Week Five - Day Four

TIME THERE: 26 min.
TIME BACK: 26 min.
WEATHER: clear, -2C, 7 km/hr wind there; clear, 13C, 6 km/hr wind back.
WHAT I WORE: yoga pants, t-shirt, waterproof shell, cotton gloves (gloves in panniers on the way back)
NOTES:
When I opened the door to leave this morning, I was confronted with frost-covered lawns and my car windows needing a scrape. My outgoing breath crystallized and hung in the air before me while my inhalations chilled my lungs. It was cold. When I started biking, I very quickly became aware of just how unprepared I am to deal with this kind of weather. Running shoes designed for "breathability" allowed my feet to freeze to numbness. My legs were stiff, numb, and slow under the thin layer of protection the yoga pants provided. My hands, in their dainty powder blue cotton gloves, could barely move enough to use the brakes properly. The cold wind bit at my cheeks and my eyes watered like I was watching Magnolia. It's not even that cold! It's not even windy! My God, there's not even snow on the ground to have to force my way through! This will not do.

This weekend I will head over to Mountain Equipment Co-Op and buy some things: a warm middle layer to go between my waterproof outer shell and my base layer, some gloves, maybe something to cover my ears, maybe even a pair of waterproof pull-over pants and some goggles. Considering I'll be taking my daughter with me, and likely chasing her through the store trying to prevent her from tearing everything off every shelf she can reach, perhaps I'll have to just buy one or two things and save the rest for another day.

Speaking of my daughter: baby, you are killing me. I have no idea what's wrong, but she's not sleeping well and she's often whiny, prone to tantrums and tears, and everything's a fight (I often have to pin her arms down with my toes so I can change her diaper without getting poop everywhere, all while she's screaming and thrashing as best she can). Here's a run-down of how we spent our time between getting home from work this evening and the present:

1. She didn't want to go inside the house and tried to break away from me as soon as I got her out of the car, making a bee-line for the road. I caught her and took her by the hand to lead her back onto the sidewalk, but she threw herself down onto the pine cone riddled concrete and screamed, so I suggested we could go for a walk along the path instead of the street. She held onto my finger and we walked along the path for a while, and this was very sweet for about a half-block, until she tripped and fell and cried hysterically. I picked her up, kissed her hands, and tried to carry her home, but she squirmed and squealed til I put her down because she had to walk herself. When I did put her down, she ran into a neighbour's yard and immediately found some rocks that she then proceeded to throw at their garage. I used my stern voice and gave her a warning to stop. She continued, so picked her up, kicking and screaming, and carried her the rest of the way home.
2. We got inside and I brought her to the backyard so she could play. When she was outside, she screamed at the back door to let her back in. When I put her inside, she screamed at the door to be let out, throwing herself backwards onto the hardwood floor and sprawling dramatically with her clenched fists waving above her head and demonstrating her "angry legs" (tense as can be, toes pointed). We have been home 20 minutes, and I can't wait for her bed time.
3. I cook dinner while she pads around by my legs, crying for milk, then cheese, then throws her milk on the floor and watches with glee as the lid pops off and leaves a massive, spreading milky mess all over the floor. I drop what I'm doing to clean this up, and she does her best to splash in the puddle and make the mess even bigger than it has to be. When I try to prevent her from getting to the milk puddle, she throws another tantrum. During this incident, I burn my dinner.
   
4. She's in her high chair, eating. More accurately, throwing. I'm not sure she ate anything, considering how much of her food ended up on the floor. I gave her a toddler-sized yogurt drink for dessert, which she began drinking nicely. This is my opportunity to sit down to eat my own dinner, and just as I sit down I hear a splat-splat-splat. She has emptied the entire yogurt drink down her shirt, making a waterfall from her chest through her lap, down her high chair, and onto the floor - and the cat - below. As I begin cleaning this, she throws what remains of her food at me.
5. As I'm cleaning up after dinner, I hear her transferring precisely one-half of the cat's food into the cat's water dish. The remaining half of the kibble she spreads all over the floor of the spare bedroom. Throughout this process she manages to eat a handful or two of it.
6. Bath time! Thank God, bed time is almost here! It's going pretty well, except for when she starts using the cup that's meant for washing her hair to empty the bathwater onto the bathroom floor. She manages to get a cup of water directly down the heating vent that is right beside the tub before I'm able to confiscate the cup. Bathtub tantrum ensues.
7. BED TIME!!! Not soon enough! I read her a story as she sits in my lap (one of my favourite things is how she hands me a book and then backs herself into my lap when she wants me to read to her). I give her a snuggle, and a kiss, and put her to bed, then go downstairs to catch up on the blog.
8. She screams for an hour. Only after she stops do I realize that my jaw has been clenched in frustration for the past hour. I am exhausted.
   

I love my daughter dearly, AND, sometimes: I. Hate. Parenthood.