Roughing It

Someday the baby will nap well again, and I will write in sunny bliss with marshmallows floating around me while butterflies hum.

Until then, baby cries, sick as can be. Nothing I can do to help her. Messes feel like failures, but so does angry frustration. Appointments made, facebook has changed again. Please give me answers. No, please just help her. One armed-baby is so sad.

Until then I type in bathroom to have it done. One more day - Accomplished.