It was the sandwich, I swear

I have five minutes.  Ready, go:

I am nursing LG and eating a tuna sandwich as I type this, and the baby has egg in her hair.  This week has been a little on the colossally stressful side, with Lorso trying to meet a deadline and me sort of single parenting it for a few days.  Bug’s birthday party is coming up on Saturday, and I have a Superman cake to bake and a house to Superhero-proof, because I suspect once you hand four year olds a cape they don’t just tie it on and sit down to read a book.

So there’s that, and then there’s the fact that in about 15 minutes I’m going to take both kids to the doctor for shots.  I think Bug has to get something like 4 rounds.  It seems cruel really, that doctor’s visits have to come around birthday time.  Happy birthday kid!  LIFE IS PAIN.   I’m not sure which is worse, though – being four and knowing the shots are coming, or being 2 and a half months and thinking everything’s cool and then all of a sudden HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT IN MY LEG WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

It’s a toss up, maybe.

So anyway, time’s up.  I need to go get my steely reserve and strap it on.  Prepare the troops for battle.  Zip up my woman suit.

I just hope the doctor doesn’t ask me why my baby smells so fishy.