So tired.  Too tired for full sentences.  Will update in bullet form.

Avery

• Loves to sleep.  During the day.  At night?  Not even close to being interested.  I remember this from Eirinn.  This part is no fun.
• Loves to eat.  ALL THE TIME.  Is a pig.  But I guess she has the whole “growing infant” thing to use as an excuse for the weight gain.  Feeding her all the time has left me with an insatiable craving for Fudgsicles.  I do not have the “growing infant” thing as an excuse for weight gain anymore.  Luckily Fudgsicles are low in fat and calories.  High on awesome.
• HATES to be naked.  Even diapie changes are reason for complete mental breakdowns.  Oh, and the breakdowns cause her to poop.  So get this vicious cycle.  She poops, so we have to change her, so she screams about it, so she poops, and so on until eternity.  Leaving for the grocery store this morning took an hour and a half and 7 diapers.  I could hear the “cha-ching” with every shriek.
• Is ridiculously cute.  Even when she’s not sleeping, pigging out on my very sore udders, and squeeling for someone to save her from the torture of a clean, dry bum.

Eirinn

• Is coping surprisingly well.  She’s trying to be helpful, although the concept of “gentle” is a little foreign to our little Princess Tomboy.  She’ll catch on.
• Has been spoiled rotten, which probably contributes to the coping.  She has been treated to many Big Sister presents, trips to the trailer, pool parties, popcicles just cause she wants them.  I’m sure if she knew Big Sister-dom came with so many perks, she would have signed up for this gig a long time ago.
• Now seems GIGANTIC.  Last week, she still seemed like our baby girl.  Size 2 clothing was still tiny.  Now she is this enormous, Godzeera of a person who just speaks with a funny accent and still wears diapers to bed at night.

Bosco

• Is feeling terribly neglected and unloved, even though literally nothing has changed for him.  He still has the run of the house, gets a treat every night, and sleeps in our bed.  Not even Avery is allowed to sleep in our bed, so that’s got to mean something, right?

Me

• Incredibly tired from the no sleeping, constantly eating newborn.  But that’s the same story heard from every mother of a newborn, so I’m not looking for any sympathy.
• Except maybe from Anonymous Husband.  It’s very easy to feel bitter at three in the morning, feeding the child, having only been asleep for a grand total of 20 minutes, when the husband is snoring away three feet to my left.  Especially when the snoring is what woke the baby up.
• Feeling, otherwise, great.

* Edited to note: Anonymous Husband has been incredibly helpful this week.  I only feel the resent at night because feeding her is something he can not do to help.  If he could, I’m sure he would.  But he can’t, so I sit on my side of the bed at all hours of the night, baby filling her little tummy, glaring at him through my tired, crusty eyes, wishing he had the boobs in the family.

It’s National Doughnut Day!!!  That’s almost as awesome as Christmas!  It’s better than Easter!  While chocolate is a wonderful, beautiful invention, 9 times out of 10 I’ll take a doughnut over a chocolate bar (unless it’s a sprinkle doughnut; then it would be 10 times out of 10).

On Monday, I ate 3 sprinkle doughnuts for dessert at supper and only stopped because people were looking at me sideways and whispering to each other.  Like maybe I’m not pregnant afterall and this protruding belly is completely self inflicted.  Then, on Tuesday, I ate two more at lunch and only stopped because there were no more sprinkle ones left.  Just thought I’d let you know.  Not that you wanted to, but now you do.

Now, go and have a doughnut (or 5) to celebrate my new favourite day of the year!  I probably won’t get one (ironically) because I’m too lazy to drive to the store and get some.  I prefer my doughnuts delivered and without having to ask for them.  I’m high maintenance like that. 

Today I met my mom and Eirinn at Rotten Ronnie’s for lunch.  It was a “special treat” because my mom didn’t have any other kids and Eirinn claims to like chicken nuggets (even though the discarded bag containing half of her order tells me otherwise).  The food actually grosses me out and makes me feel like a bad person and ashamed of myself after I eat it.  That’s why it’s a “special treat.”

She also loves the playroom and is pretty sure that every restaurant should have one.  Frankly, I do too.  Wouldn’t it be nice if places that served something other than cow lips and arseholes had a playground!  indoors!  so kids would actually want to eat there too?  Just a suggestion.

Eirinn is technically too young (ages 3-10) to use the playroom, but I let her if there are just well behaved younger kids in there with her.  As soon as the roughhousing hooligans pile in, running and screaming and threatening each other, I pull her out for fear I’ll never see her with all her limbs again.

Today, thankfully, it was a nice calm day, playroom-wise.  Eirinn general sticks to using the slide, which is harmless enough for my tender heart.  On her 894th time down, she emerged, sliding on her tummy, head-first, with a giant grin on her face.  As she struggled to stand up and climb out I noticed what was so amusing. 

Her pants were down around her knees.  And she thought this was brilliant. 

Not only was she the laughing stock of the restaurant (which, to her, was a very good thing, the little performer that she is), but everyone got to see that she was wearing Big Girl Disney Princess Pull Ups and not baby diapers.

My three thoughts were:

1.  Girl needs to grow a butt.  Those of us with J. Lo gadunk-a-dunks have never had the experience of our pants falling down.

2.  Where on earth was my camera at a time like this? 

and

3.  Boy am I glad I have a blog to share with the world my legions of fans a couple of people my mom (who was there) this kind of future humiliation.