We are going on day three of serious crankyfacedness.
The boy, not me. Actually, me, too.
But only because my boy, who is usually sunshine and unicorn kisses all wrapped up in rainbows has temporarily (pray God) turned into a little pink ball of whine and gripe and scream. And poo.
Big J is feeling crummy - teething? - and he has had an upset tummy.
Not every moment. He can be his lovely charming self for a while, and then turn into a screeching dollop of misery the next.
We spent the weekend in kind of a poofest, with screaming SCREAMING at every diaper change. Of which there were a lot. And also at random moments.
And when you put him down.
And I'd nurse him and he'd fart these farts of death, which were only more evil because they were taking place like a foot from my nose. And I couldn't walk away.
Plus you'd have to check to see if it was fart? Or poo?
Nick and I both got poofingers checking diapers on separate occasions.
In addition to the fartpoo business, he's been needy needy needy. And screamy.
As you know, he's started making all kinds of noises lately. Babababababa! Dadadadada! So fun!
And also this new noise I can't quite describe. But I will try.
It's kind of like if you took an immense cheese grater and scraped it along rusty metal pipes rotating very slowly.
Next to which several cats were mating and making that screechy sound (which is apparently because cat penises are barbed???).
And someone was slaughtering sheep in the background.
While someone else was turning the key in the ignition of an engine that refused to start.
That's an approximate description.
Basically, it's very terrible.
And I feel bad for him, I do, and I try to comfort him, with patting and rocking and lullabies and, "Oh, honey, shush shush shush."
But the truth is that after a while, in my mind and sometimes even out loud I'm all "Jesus, Jordan! Goddammit! Stoooooooooop!"
Which makes me feel like a bad mama.