Today is my first solo day with Ingrid. It got off to a great start (well, after the tears when Dave was getting ready to leave, uh, on MY part) in that in my first two solo hours, I had showered, dressed and fed the baby, and dressed myself in REAL PANTS, even. Then I fed her again, and she hurled spectacularly, managing to nail all of our clothes, so we had to change again. Plus, dude, she hurled. It’s a lot of work getting all that IN, so it’s sort of depressing to see it come back UP. Also, GROSS.

Dave did make it home for lunch, but might have to stay a little late tonight as they’re prepping for a telethon. As long-timers know, Dave & telethons are a stressful combo — all he has to do is run camera, but that means looking at an endless parade of sick and dying/dead/almost died kids for HOURS upon HOURS.  It skews one’s perspective, that’s for sure, and this is the first year (obviously) that he’s running camera with a newborn at home. So, he’ll be a wreck at work, and I’ll be home alone for TWELVE HOURS. TWELVE. Which has me a little paranoid, as you can imagine.

Anyway, other than throwing up on Mama’s last pair of clean Real Pants (I’m now in sweats, ugh), Ingrid has other tricks… she likes to climb up us, extending her legs so that she’s in a downward dog position and totally pissed that she can’t just stand up and WALK like a REGULAR HUMAN, dammit.  We also have several nicknames for her, as you do, including "BabyBug," "Frog Princess," "Squirmin’ Merman" and "Jesus Christ, Was That You?"

So far, so good.