Eight months

Elle is over eight months old now (eight months! wha?) and part of me wishes I could just freeze her right at this age, and keep her just as she is.

But by the time I'd finish wishing I could freeze her, she'd have moved onto something else. Seriously, it's that fast.

***

Did you know the Sou.th Park dudes wrote a musical about the Morm.ons? They did.

I can't make this stuff up.

***

Work has been intense. I've accepted a new role with the same company, and this month I'm doing my new job and my old job. I'm doing this in a situation where I have almost no flexibility, schedule-wise-- I'm already leaving Elle with the sitter for as long as the sitter's schedule allows, and by the time I get her to bed I have about an hour and a half to clean up, have something for dinner, think about what to wear the next day to work, and collapse. So at the moment, it's not like I have any time outside the eight-to-five to get these massive amounts of work accomplished.

Yeah, I'm whining. Sorry. I should probably suck it up and work until 10 or 11 at night and collapse into bed after that, but if I lose sleep, I get sick. I can't afford that.

Of course, I also can't afford to risk my job. It's never a good thing to lose a job, of course. But now I have this little apple-cheeked ball of curiosity dependent upon me, and-- I hate to say it-- there's a low level of terror that if I'm unemployed, she suffers.

That's possibly one of the hardest things about being a single parent, honestly. Unless I win the lottery (and I'd have to play to win, heh), there's always going to be that drumbeat in the back of my mind, that fear about What If.