I'm hunkered down in our darkened bedroom sipping cold coffee while painters bang things and shout in Spanish about the idiot woman hiding in the bedroom. Someone - AND I'M NOT SAYING WHO (me) - decided it would be a nice idea to repaint the apartment. So here I am, stuck in the bedroom, which is the only room we're not painting. I'm not saying that my husband decided at 9:30 last night that it was a bad idea to paint the baby's room. I'm not saying that we'd spent the entire afternoon cleaning out the closets and taking everything off the walls and moving furniture to the middle of the room, or that we spent $250 on eco-friendly paint specifically so that it would be reasonably baby-safe, just to change "our" minds.
A-hem.
I know he's right. The bedroom has very little ventilation - the window is baby safe and only opens a few inches - and shutting him in a freshly painted room come come nap time is probably a bad move. But a freshly painted room! No more salmon pink paint peeking through the cracks! No more gouged drywall! It's for the best, it's for the best... He'll be attacking the walls with crayons soon anyway...
In other news, we're ankle deep in the dreaded 9-month sleep regression and it's a doozy. Anyone who's been there, feel free to commiserate.
3 comments:
I hired my parents to listen to the screaming while I took a break during each nap. Totally worked for me. I can't say much for the kid...
Okay, that is GENIUS. Did you actually have to pay them? My kingdom for nearby grandparents!
I do not pay them in anything other than "you can hold her for a second" currency. It RAWKS.
OTOH, I was explaining the juvenile robins in our yard to my kid today, and said that they're not living in the nest anymore, but they still need their parents to help them survive. And then I did a headspinning horrorshow tripletake at my own momentary simultaneous lack of and abundance of self-awareness. The end.
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