Today was going well. Better than yesterday at least.
Baby Fraggle woke at a decent time, and we were on track - on track for our newly created get-the-baby-to-nap-so-we-don't-go-insane plan. She had a half-nap this morning IN HER CRIB (never mind the fact that I sat there with her) before we walked over to the grocery store and pharmacy.
I was kickin' ass and takin' names. These are big accomplishments, people. Don't doubt me.
Furthermore, on the way home I encountered an actual mail man at the actual mail box, with whom I had an actual conversation and he even mailed my actual letters.
By the time we arrived home, Fraggle was still sleeping in her stroller (WIN), so we sat on the front step allowing me a precious 10 minutes to soak up the sun and tweet up something fierce.
Then something went awry...
About 15 minutes after coming inside, I noticed the front door was open.
Fucking holy hell shitballs craphole dammit where are the fucking cats.
Tuxedo was, as usual, under the shrub by the front step, since he's too damn stupid to venture far. I spooked him, so he came flying into the house - covered cobwebby junk.
Patches though. Where was Patches? I called her name, no luck. I clinked her food bowl, no luck.
Umm, uh oh.
And a tiny human inside that I couldn't, ya know, leave alone.
This is when it happened. A matter of time, really. The "turns out I don't love the cats as much as the child" moment officially occurred. It's been coming for a while (such as when they are meowing like lunatics at 3am), but this was the true moment in which changing and feeding the baby was potentially more important than hunting for the stupid cat...
But then it wasn't.
So back in the stroller goes the baby, and off we go, wandering through the neighbours' backyards, clinking bowls and shouting PATCH for everyone to hear. The little shithead emerged from a backyard a few houses down, running for the food her clinking bowl seemed to indicate.
Thanks to all that I missed the baby's "sleep window" so Fraggle is now accidentally sleeping in her swing, rather than her crib (but at least sleeping thank heaven).
Oh, and I just unloaded the grocery bag and it turns our that I bought the wrong fucking coffee.
So, not acing this motherhood thing yet, eh?