Time

Seven minutes until my Thursday night TV-watching begins . . .

So:

Jemma, in the last couple of days, has become so much less of a "baby" and so much more of a person. Things she's doing lately: giggling naughtily when I tell her "no;" trying so hard to squirm off her changing table that I'm afraid she's really going to do it; splashing so much in the bathtub at night that my shirt becomes completely soaked; being waaaaaay too busy to nurse during the day; standing up randomly in the middle of the room, preferably holding a forbidden piece of chalk from Annie's easel; screaming when she wants something and I take it away; making a high-pitched little "woof-woof" noise when she sees a dog; saying "ba" for ball.

Is she two years old? How is time going by this quickly?

And speaking of time, I am going to start a national movement promoting awareness of how little of it parents have. This is because I'm so, so tired of random people (OK, a pompous doctor/acquaintance I ran into at Starbucks and my mother-in-law) complaining to me (ME!) about how they are so, so busy and there just isn't enough time. Yeah, tell me about it! I'm betting these people actually get to take a shower by themselves every single day, go to the bathroom whenever the need occurs, run errands without hauling along two small bodies, eat meals in peace, and sleep entire nights. Nobody should be telling parents with young children about how little time they have. I think the only people more busy than parents might be first-year surgical residents and single parents, and you won't find me complaining to those people about how busy I am.

That's my seven minutes today. Tomorrow, more time?