I think I might be having a bad day. I'm not quite sure yet.
It started out okay. I mean, someone ate all the plain cream cheese, leaving me nothing but onion and chive flavoured for my cinnamon bagel -- not cool -- but other than that, it was fairly uneventful. In very un-Marnie-like fashion, I got up extra early and went to the gym and that went fine. Now I'm watching my neice, and things are starting to fall apart.
The thing you have to know about Savannah (that would be the aforementioned neice) is that she's an extremely hungry child. At 2 months, she was already the size of a 6 month old, if that tells you anything. Now, at 4 months (and nearly 21 lbs.) she can do without most things as long as she has a boob or a bottle shoved in her mouth for at least 3/4 of the day. She's already had 8 ounces since she's been here, as well as half a jar of apples (which is a nightmare because she doesn't open her mouth, so you have to just make her laugh and shove it in as soon as you see your chance), yet somehow, she's still crying. A lot. Tons of crying. It doesn't stop.
It's enough to make you lose your mind. If there's anything I've learned from the extensive amount of babysitting I've done for my sister's children, it's that I don't think I want any kids of my own. At least not for a very very long time. Rod Stewart is going to be a father again at 60. That sounds about right for me. I think by then I should be ready.
God. Please. Make. Her. Stop.