Crying makes me weary

Cole has a little bug and has been very whiny and crying pretty much non-stop today. Oh. My. Goodness. I am just absolutely spent. There is something about attending to a whiny toddler that wears me out like nothing else.

I have to admit that it does remind me of when I was so depressed with Aidan while he simultaneously was going hungry and colic-y, crying all of the time. Maybe it's just a trigger that sends me to I-need-to-leave-this-living-hell-land. And maybe it is just that I had a bona-fide night out this past weekend. And I am still hung over. Ok, maybe not a traditional alcohol-related hangover. I did have my share (and then some) of gin and tonics, but mostly I think it was the 3:30 a.m. arrival home. My theory is one hour before midnight is worth three after (it used to be worth two, but I'm not getting any younger). I primped for more than an hour, scrubbed my skin within an inch of its life, donned a new (thanks weight loss!) top from my favorite store, Nordstrom, and (gasp!) sprayed on a bit of bronzer. I love getting prettied up, not a lot better as far as I am concerned. I would make an excellent celebrity or model.

I got blisters from the pointy-toes heels and waited for a ride (with my girls) outside for more than hour (can you say hy-pppppp-o-ther-mia?). Then, a very sweet, very young gentleman loaned me his sweatshirt while I waited (and they say chivalry is lost on the gen-nexters). The point is, the farther the departure from my everyday life, the more time it takes to get back into it. Worth it? Yup. Every second.