The dog apparently likes the way I did my hair this morning because he has never been so humpy. And he's not a humpy dog. Usually if he's feeling frisky it's aimed at his father which we've repeatedly told him is NOT OK, and then if he continues we remind him this behavior is all in his head because he has no balls (balls, as we all know, being the epicenter from which said behavior arises) (they don't just dangle there for looks people).
And the cat - the cat has decided its play time and that means attacking my butt through the back of the chair. And when I get up to move away from him he bounces after me like, "Oh fun, I get to attack from somewhere else?"
Then comes the baby. The real reason I'm hiding.
She is currently screaming her head off because she wants me to come read Good Night Moon to her for the four hundredth time. And to those of you who think an almost six month old baby can't possibly be requesting the same book over and over again, YOU DON'T KNOW MY BABY. She likes her crazy nightynight babble and she likes it on repeat.
She'll fall asleep within the next minute, but until then I have to hide. Because even though I know it's fake crying, I still don't like to hear it. It kills me. I don't like to hear her cry unless it's because she just realized Grey's Anatomy is a repeat, and then that's only to muffle my own sobs. So no matter what kind of crying she's doing I still want to run in there and pick her up and rock her to sleep until she's TWENTY NINE YEARS OLD. That's the trouble with being a mom. Like, right now, she's asleep - honestly she was asleep before I finished the first sentence of this post. And you know what that makes me want to do? It makes me want to run in there and pick her up and bring her into the closet with me where we can both hide from the animals.
But I won't because I don't want to risk the inevitable clawing and sexual harassment that's waiting for me outside this door.
It's like living in a frat house over here.
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