Reality

I can't put Nathaniel down. Every time I do, he fusses. Finally he seems to calm down on the changing table. It's almost noon. I tuck a blanket around him and give him his paci. His eyes roll back. Success! Time for a quick shower. I practically run the 10 steps into the bathroom get the water going. I break all speed records: 2 minutes to wash, rinse and condition my hair, another minute to wash my body, 30 seconds on my face. And yet, by the time I get out (maybe 4 minutes later?) he's crying. Not just crying, screaming. Not just screaming, howling. My boobs start to drip--then stream--milk. Down my stomach, onto my legs. Within seconds I've replaced all the dried milk I just washed off myself from the past 24 hours of messy eating.

At least my hair is clean.

Original post by Smiling Mama. Thanks for reading!