where's the fun and who gets fixed?

To say I'm fagg** [in the British sense] is an understatement. Physically, I've neglected my ulcer management, taking care of the newborn and my esteem is in the sub-basement levels of an elevator shaft. No sleep, no reliable family to count on, other than the parents, who bring their baggage when they babysit and I have minimal relief on the child rearing front. Baby Jack is beautiful but when the spouse gets on my case [as my clutter seeps through the house], it's hard to really be happy and the stress compounds each day. Work will be such a vacation for me.

Weather was beautiful today at least though I didn't take Jack for a walk. Had a wild fantasy about baking Halloween cupcakes for tonight and waffles for tomorrow's breakfast but am frittering the little energy I have on laundry and mail.

Spouse is out and I can't help wondering what would happen if I jumped ship, if he'd be Mr. Mom. I wouldn't but the thought is amusing for a minute or two. Most of my friends have the 'I need 2 daytimer schedules' as they keep up with their kids and their extended family so it's harder for me to plan things. Spouse seems to think I like being a recluse. No Howard Hughes here. But until the ulcer is back down, not really in shape to go out anyway.

It is official: no kids after this. But we have yet to discussed who gets 'fixed.'