I admit it. I suck at stress-management. When I took the bar exam a few years ago, I stressed so much that my hair fell out, my TMJ flared-up to the extent that I experienced horrible sporadic facial pain (I'm talking, drop-what-you're-doing-because-you-just-got-bashed-in-the-face-with-an-iron-skillet type of pain) and I may or may not have morphed into a fire-breathing dragon. Ridiculous, isn't it? Yesterday I took my daughter to the dentist because I had noticed a spot on the back of her front tooth. To my dismay, the dentist confirmed a cavity but because of her age she'd have to go to a specialist. So this morning, the hubby took her in. She'll have to be put under anesthesia so the tooth can be fixed and right now she's still too small - they want her to be 25 lbs. She has to go back for monthly flouride treatments to keep the cavity from spreading until she can handle the anesthetic. Naturally, my mommy-guilt has taken over and I feel completely responsible despite the fact that I brush her teeth diligently and sweets are explicitly forbidden. I understand that far-worse things could be happening right now and I should be grateful it's just a little cavity. Maybe this is why I am so stuck on my WIP - I worry too much about perfection and trying to avoid what could go wrong that nothing ever gets done. *sigh* I think it's time for a massage!
My husband has taken it upon himself to help expand our daughter's vocabulary. He has successfully taught her to say please, outside and daddy. It's amazing to me how many words a 17 month-old child can say and even more so, how many she understands! (I take full responsibility for her shoe fetish.) Lately he's been asking her "what's up homie?" so it should have come as no surprise when Wednesday her response was "homieeeee." That's right, my pretty little princess walks around calling people "homie" and giving knuckle-bumps.