Baby's having trouble sleeping, as her tummy's bothering her because of the constipation, which led to the diaper rash, which was all caused by carrots. My fault. Started her on solids too early, it seems. To add insult to injury, last night a lone cricket the size of my pinky fingernail made its way into our bedroom, and started chirping at jackhammer volume. GW and I found him and flushed him out, after much ado, and eventually I got the baby back to sleep. By eventually, I mean never. So it seemed.
Sleep deprivation does weird things to a person. I'm not myself. I went to a board meeting last night at Av's school, and couldn't put a whole sentence together. This morning I poured boiling water from the tea kettle directly onto my hand, instead of into the mug. That kind of stung a little. Self-punishment? For what? Inadvertently giving my baby diaper rash, maybe. I'm probably reading too much into it. I do that.
This is El eating the offending carrots. Seemed like a good idea at the time, to both of us.
And we're dutifully washing them off afterwards. Because most of them ended up on the outside of her body and the surrounding area (table, high chair, wall, window), not the inside. And yet they still wreaked havoc on her poor little bowels. Guess it doesn't take much when you weigh 16 pounds.
My friend E. came over the other day with her two kids, so they could play in the pool with Av. I hung around outside the pool while El slept upstairs, and I kept going in and out the back door so I could listen for her in case she woke up. At one point I was racking my brain, trying to figure how I could keep tabs on El without having to constantly interrupt my pool-skimming and conversation with E. to go stand at the bottom of the stairs for 90 seconds. E. read my mind pretty easily, and suggested delicately (so as not to make it obvious that I've become retarded), "Got a monitor?"
See? No sleep.
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