TIme at which Maggie began weeping piteously in her crib: 6:11 am.
Minutes previous to that my husband woke me up to tell me he was going to the drugstore to buy Immodium because the stomach bug that got Maggie got him: 75
Time he'd gone to bed the previous night with my blessing because he was feeling like hell: 7:15 pm
Minutes Maggie slept after I settled her down in our bed and explained it was Sleep TIme, not Play Time: Perhaps 10
Her cranky level, on a scale of 1-10: 8
Mine: 10. Maybe 11.
Number of inhabitants of this house whose poop I have cleaned up from the kitchen floor: 2
Total number of legs possessed by the above: 6
Days Maggie has had God knows what wrong with her digestive system: 3
Ounces of food she has consumed over that time: 8
Number of times my cell phone died during a conversation with Paul about poop that was not mine: 3
Extremely bad swear words I said in front of Maggie today: 2
Phone calls from OB/GYN's office: 1
Purpose of said call: to inform me they wanted me to do another beta. Could not explain why except to say the doctor flagged it but there's not a problem.
Freakout level: Orange (elevated)
It's not all bad: At Trader Joe's today, a random stranger ran in and got her a balloon after she lost hers in the parking lot. Proving my theory that people genuinely want to be nice and not assholes, it's just that the assholes ruin it for the rest of us.
I think I'll be a much nicer peron if I can get some rest.