So at 1:10, I get Meghan down for a much-needed nap. I had just taken a shower/bath with her before, and she was throwing a fit because she wanted me to take her out of her bath seat and hold her -- as in, screaming and carrying on as though someone had just plunged an axe into her head, and then the moment I picked her up or she got distracted enough by a toy, she was all coo-ey and happy again. It made doing the things I needed to do for myself in the shower (i.e., soap up, wash hair) in order to finish and get the hell on out of there very difficult, and I even resorted to going, "Meghan, if you don't stop throwing a fit by the time I count to five, you're going to be in trouble. 1...2...3...." She actually calmed down then, which makes me wonder how much she understands, but doesn't let on. Or maybe it was a coincidence. I have no idea.

Anyway, so Meghan goes down for a nap, and I go back to my room to get dressed, thinking happily, "No post on Sundays!" (HP reference alert! I was just listening to Sorcerer's Stone on CD in the car yesterday. :) ) My dog freaks out when the mailman comes, which always disrupts Meghan (aka the lightest sleeper in the world) from her nap, so I'm reveling in the fact that this won't happen today.

Three or four minutes later, cue doorbell.

Half a second later, cue manic barking by my dog.

I have no idea who's at my door, and I can't go find out, because I am 100% naked.

Maybe 30 or 45 seconds later, cue baby crying. I was surprised she waited that long to cry, actually.

Two seconds later, cue me snapping my fingers down the stairs and hissing my dog's name, trying to get her to shut up. Cue my brain heaving a great, big resigned sigh, because it knows that once Meghan's up, it's really hard, and often impossible, to get her back down, even if I nurse her again.

Although...OK, maybe the universe doesn't hate me. Maybe it only has a strong dislike of me, because while I was typing this up, hoping a miracle would happen and the crying would stop on its own,...a miracle happened and the crying stopped on its own!

I don't know whether to kill someone or celebrate. Maybe the best thing to do would be to finish getting dressed before the next time the universe decides to vomit on my shoes.

I know, I know, baby with sleep problems =/= famine, house destroyed by hurricane, terminal illness, etc. But I still had to vent.

Addendum: STOP SUCKING, LJ! I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU TRY TO EAT THIS POST AGAIN.