After a much-needed trip back to Fort Wayne to celebrate the Fourth, we are back at home base. While it's nice to have the little mister back in his routine & to not be living out of our suitcase, it is a much more solitary life back in Chicago. 48 hours back and I'm already feeling a little stir crazy. I am seriously considering asking our mail-woman (Is that the PC way to say it? Mail-lady? Mail-mam? Mail-person?) to deliver our mail in small increments throughout the day. It would make life just that much more exciting.
I'm not gonna lie: I'm trying hard to mask my feelings of resentment towards the babe because he doesn't yet have his stuff together enough to go to the movie theater. I am dying to see Toy Story 3. Maybe if we top off his bedtime Bubba with a couple drops of Baby Tylenol he would stay in a euphoric state long enough (Kidding, people. Relax. But really.).
When we first came to check out this apartment for the first time, I immediately realized how much quieter it was than our old apartment. I thought, "YES, no more rap music blasting through cheap speakers at 2am."
Well, I was wrong. Sort of. Mostly only about the rap part.
I suppose I should be grateful that we live in a more culturally diverse neighborhood. Instead of solely TuPac & Beyonce, we now have Toby Keith, Coldplay, ACDC, & mariachi music for our listening pleasure. I guess that's something.
I think my cabin fever led me to terrorize a couple of pre-teen boys last night. It was 10:30pm, and the babe had been down for about an hour after a very sticky, sweaty day. The two of us had just lounged around in our underwear & took soak-breaks in his baby bath tub all day since it was so disgustingly hot. It was so nice to finally have a little break.
Then, right outside our living room window, bottle rockets go off. Mind you, we have no AC & all our windows have to be open. If I had been wearing more clothes, they would have torn into tiny pieces as I morphed into Hulk mode.
"HEY. It's TEN THIRTY and I've got a BABY sleeping.
KNOCK IT OFF."
One of them may or may not have soiled his pants as they took off running down the street.
At first, I let out a faint evil scientist laugh, but then I instantly felt like a cranky old bag. I guess it's payback for when I was 16 and thought it was super cool to drive around with my music blasting at 1am.
This morning, Ave & I took a 7am stroll to the grocery store before the heat wave rolled back in. As we were waiting in line to buy some homemade pizza ingredients, he stirred from his nap and started staring at his feet. For a solid five minutes his big baby-blue eyes just stared down those little butterball feet, as if he was saying to himself, "Holy cats, where did THOSE come from? They are marvelous!"
...maybe I don't mind staying home all day after all.