Baboo:1, PsychoMama:0

I was hoping to re-tile the kitchen floor tonight. Our floor is gross, and it's driving me crazy. I have no idea who thought that this tile could possible look good anywhere, under any circumstances, but clearly someone did. Either that, or it was a cruel joke, and the person who developed this apartment building fell for it. This stuff is nasty, and it's gotta go.

Here's the thing about me. Every once in awhile I will "feel" like doing something productive. And if I do not do that thing when I "feel" like it, it will probably not get done. If I waited until a more suitable time to redo the floor, like when my mom is here to watch Baboo or when The Hubbs is here, then I can guarantee that though the timing might be more suitable, I would not "feel" like it. And if I did not "feel" like it, then I would not do it.

Tonight I "felt" like re-tiling the floor. So even though Our Sweet Baboo was awake, and even though there was no one here to help me with him, I went with it. First I plunked him down in his car seat at the entry way to the kitchen. I got one tile laid before he started to fuss. I attempted to use his soother to plug--ahem, calm him, but to no avail. Then I tried his swing, but that too, was unfavourable to him. I finally put him on his boppy on the couch, positioned myself so that he could see me, then got to work. I probably worked for about 15 minutes before he decided that he was no longer having fun watching Mommy slave, and would rather Mommy be a slave to him.

He cried, and then I decided it was time for him to go sleepybye. I took him to our room. I fed him. I rocked him. I rubbed the spot between his eyebrows just the way he likes it. He drifted off. I placed him in his bassinet. He immediately kicked off his swaddle. I stuck my head inside his bassinet and put my hand on his chest to trick him into thinking I was still holding him. He flailed his arms. I cringed as his eyes popped open. I then decided, at that moment, that my two month old was old enough to put himself to sleep. I turned and left the room, closing the door behind me and hightailing it for the kitchen. I managed to lay two more tiles before his cries followed me down the hall. I frowned, went back to our room, and contemplated what to do. I could expend a lot of energy trying to get him to go back to sleep, rocking and singing and feeding. Or I could bring him to the living room, plunk down in front of the computer, and put on America's Next Top Model (we have to watch tv online now because someone came along and used up all our money, freeing us from cable). I don't think I have to tell you which option I chose.

I love me some America's Next Top Model. The floor will have to wait.

Baboo: 1
PsychoMama: 0