Whew.

All articles are either finished or at least have their first draft done and await fine-tuning tomorrow. Plus I've got the steek-along under control (uh, I do, don't I, guys? You'd let me know if you were struggling, right?), so that's cool. All there is left to do is... well, knit.

FOR ME!! MEMEMEME!!

Ahem.


Tonight while I was hunched over my computer, writing (conveniently my network connection that hooks me to the internet was crapped out all afternoon, forcing me to actually work instead of hanging about reading blogs and e-mailing people), I tried to shoo everyone out of my office. So what do they do when told to leave?

Plop down in the hallway, directly on the other side of the baby gate in my office door, and tickle and giggle. Any mom yelling at giggling children is officially the antiChrist, so I had to suck it up and deal. (Because, you know, it's so depressing to listening to a giggling, squealing baby.)

The Baby has decided that speaking is for people who can't express themselves properly. Last night at 1:30 she woke up, fussing. As I was walking her to calm her down, the husbeast stopped me and we had one of those classic "WTF??" discussions parents have: "Do you think she's teething?" "No... Fever maybe?" "I don't think so...Diaper?" and in the middle of our systems check, The Baby swatted her father on the chest and pointed imperiously to the kitchen. She wanted a bottle, damn it!

...so we gave her the damn bottle, changed her, and she went right back to sleep for another six hours.

I'm raising a diva.