Grumpypants

Oy.

Went to get my car inspected today (I love my VW dealership!) and took little mister grumpypants along with me. I feel super "Eye of the Motherfuckin' Tiger" (Thanks, Aunt Becky) for being able to breastfeed him, standing up, in the 900 degree bathroom*. He was not impressed with my mad skillz, however.

I'm sure the folks in the service area were thrilled that he at least calmed down with walks, and my pinky finger to suck on. Nobody loves a screaming baby. He's going through another growth spurt. He wants to eat every 30 seconds (approximately), screams at me for reasons I can't fathom (diaper's dry, he's not too hot/cold, he's fed, had gas medicine, and Mercury isn't in retrograde...), and is generally just irritable as hell.

(Oddly enough, the smoke detector going off for no good reason doesn't bother him, but me accidentally scrunching one of his crib toys while he's sleeping? Wakes him up immediately.)

I can't wait till he's able to tell me what's irritating the shit out of him. Of course, by then, the answer will probably be "You, Mom."


*it was either that, or in the middle of the service area, which was crowded as hell, and I still haven't mastered whipping my tits around in public- at least not without paint, and witha midget attached to them.