1. We finally replaced our broken box-spring this weekend. We have a Sleep Number Bed, which I love, but the box-spring that comes with it is a plastic frame and overlapping platform (it arrives in pieces) that somehow, over the last 5 years of use, we broke. (there was a gigantic hole in the plastic when Daddy Fuss took it out to the trash last night. Huh. No idea what caused that) Because it's a pro-rated warranty after the first 2 years (no one ever explained that to us when we bought the bed, and I think it might be kind of a rip) it would have cost us approximately $120 to replace it with the same type of pieces/equivalent of what we had before. We didn't want to pay that, so we bought a regular box-spring from a discount mattress warehouse and replaced our SN box spring with this regular one. Suddenly, there is no longer a HUGE dent in the middle of the bed! But I think we accidentally filled my side of the mattress too firm, so I'm going to have to fix that (my back is killing me!) but I'm glad to have a flat bed again!
2. Failed my 1-hour glucose test and have to go back in for the 3-hour version. I'm seriously bummed.
3. I feel huge. And unweildy. And similar to a beached whale. This is ridiculous!
4. Monday night, I spent the evening at the hospital's anti-partum unit being assessed for some pains I had had in the late afternoon. It took forever to get there/get in/be assessed and all ended up being for naught, as there was nothing wrong and my pains had long since ceased by the time I got into the assessment room. We didn't get home until almost 11 o'clock and we hadn't eaten dinner. Fuss stayed with my mom and got to bed late, too, but had a good time anyway.
5. Tuesday was a real low point for me. Fuss started her day fine, but ended up making a royal disaster out of her breakfast (she covered her legs in yogurt - I don't think she ate more than a bite or two), and then began to throw temper tantrums over and over about one little thing or another. (She insisted on wearing panties and then proceeded to wet herself 5 times in less than 3 hours before she would finally acquiesce to a diaper. And she wouldn't tell me when she had to go or even WHEN she was going or had already gone, so she was dampening my new rug all morning. She wouldn't listen to instructions, requests, etc. We went through several bouts of training/crying/etc. She wouldn't even talk to her father on the phone (which often calms her down/settles her down when I just can't take it any more) and I had a bit of a breakdown. I couldn't stop crying. Daddy Fuss ended up getting in his car and using his entire lunch break (and then some) to get us both settled down and try and bring me back my sanity a little. He changed her diaper, fed her lunch, and plopped her in front of the TV to watch a Clifford DVD until nap time. I couldn't stop crying. I'd get myself under control and a few minutes later, it would start up again. I was terrified. I was terrified of my toddler. Of being left alone with her. Of not being able to handle her outbursts. I was scared I was going slowly crazy. And she'd start crying when she saw me crying, so we were both perpetuating the cycle. I ended up locking her in the house (before my husband got home) and sitting outside in the heat for a few minutes to regain my composure. I hate feeling like this and I don't really know what came over me.
6. And that was just the morning.