While I know the biblical allusion of this post title is a tad dramatic (so unlike me, right?!), I think it is safe to say that Monday is the worst.
I should have known that my "Imma crush you, Monday" attitude on Sunday night was an ominous foreshadowing of the day to come, but I was foolish and just thought it was going to be an awesome day. I decided Sunday night to start making to-do lists again- and I hate making lists- mostly because I am feeling the psychological effects of this 4th baby even more than the physical effects, i.e. I can't even remember my kids names most of the time, and absolutely cannot remember to scrub the shower that hasn't been touched for, um, never mind that detail, and I forget at least 14 things I HAD to get every single time I grocery shop, so yes, lists need to happen. I even got a jump start on my list and wrote out my embarrassingly late Christmas thank you notes during the super bowl and had them in the mail ready for the Monday post (I'm saying "post" now, all the cool kids are).
But no amount of lists or positive thinking could prepare me for Monday, and there's really no reason for that other than the nature of Monday and all its Mondayness. I mean, the fact that I decided to jump on Nell's "No Sugar 30 train" did not help, especially since scarfing down left over Sunday waffles slathered with nutella happens to be my all time favorite coping mechanism on a rough day. And the fact that I had written a list Sunday night meant that "scrub the upstairs shower" was staring me in the face taunting me so that I couldn't use the "oops! I forgot" excuse at bedtime yet again-- I had to do it, and it was horrible.
I will not spend more than one extra long sentence complaining about it, but Joseph's naps are the worst, the very worst naps, in all of napdom and he is so lucky he is such a sweet bundle of baby cuteness, otherwise we'd be on bad terms. Lucy was 6 days post-surgery yesterday but managed to be the most difficult she has been since the operation, and I couldn't really blame her since the whole ordeal messed with her little digestive system causing some major no-pooping-for-almost-a-week-issues, which I am sure she'll thank me for sharing with you all when she's 30. You're welcome, sweetie.
Regardless, 5 p.m. saw me sipping the only clear liquor I could find in the house, really cheap gin with a splash of lime juice, while Lucy screamed and flailed on the kitchen floor and I waited for Mike to come home and go back out again to clear the driveway full of roughly 3 feet of snow from last weekend's storm.
7:30 bedtime could not have come soon enough.
The great thing about a Monday like yesterday is that Tuesday barely has to do anything to outshine it, and this Tuesday has donned bright and clear with its promise of not being Monday. It helps that Joseph slept his first ever full night of sleep last night, 11 hours to be exact (6 months be da bomb!!). Lucy is a different child today and not even her complete baptism of our living room floor in Keifer smoothie could bring me down. And to top it all off, Tuesday just happens to be BABYSITTER DAY! Joseph and I have mammoth plans to venture out to Costco, which will be my first time out of the house- other than Mass and a quick Liquor store run- since Lucy's surgery, the sample people better get ready for a stranger all too excited to converse.
Thank you, Tuesday for not being Monday, you are the best.