So Tired. So Very, Very Tired.

Oy, this was a day.

I arrived at my daughter's at 7 a.m., and took a sleepy Miss D from her arms.  Miss D was fine, delightful and fun most of the day. We reserved the little clubhouse at the park for her birthday party next month, she took a 40 minute morning nap, I tried to feed her lunch and she fed most of it to Dudley.  We went to Target.  She was in a good mood until 2 p.m., when the Sweet, Sunny Miss D vanished and the Manic Nap Fighter emerged.

God, she was a handful.  It was the first time I had to really use a stern voice and basically yell at her several times as I removed her from mischief.  The first time I yelled, while pulling her out of the fireplace, her little face crumpled and she wailed like I'd beaten her.  I consoled her and all was forgiven, but that was only the start of her Brattitude Spree.

She pulled Dudley's tail, she hit Layla, she got into the fireplace, she nearly closed doors on her fingers multiple times. She tried to pull papers off tables, she threw toys, she was just WILD.  I'd pick her up, offer a bottle, hold her, she'd relax a bit and I'd think this is it, she's going to crash, and she'd fight it off with all of her might, kicking and flailing.

Her mom called as she was leaving for home and Miss D was in a full throttle scream-o-rama, and I put her on speaker so her mom could get the full effect.  She of course fell asleep on my shoulder by the time mom's car pulled into the driveway 20 minutes later, and I passed her over to her mom as a soundly-sacked-out sleeping cherub.  She didn't stir when her daddy came home and kissed her, and didn't even twitch when I said my goodbyes. 

I came home feeling like I'd been run over.  Everything aches, and I was sweaty, gritty, encased in Layla hair and sweat and baby snark.   I needed a LONG shower.  I had carried my work stuff with me, figuring I could knock out a couple of tasks while she napped.  Yeahright.  I'll get to it in the morning.  This evening I want to pass out at 9.