Today has been bonkers, you guys. Duke has been postponing his nap for exactly 200 years and we are both exhausted.

It started this morning when I decided to just concede and finally buy some clothes that fit me right now. It sucks, but it sucks less than trying to squeeze into my pre pregnancy stuff. Besides, I'm headed back to work in a few weeks, and I have to adult-up and acknowledge that I still might not be in fighting form by then. I'm trying to be mature about this, but it's a struggle. Anyway, none of this is the point. The point is that I really tried to prepare accordingly, but my baby just had a meltdown from entrance to exit of that God forsaken mall.

It's 4 o'clock right now and I'm literally counting down until it's respectable for me to break out the bottle of wine his screaming forced me to buy at Target on my way out.

I tried everything, you guys. I shushed him in my cooing voice until I went hoarse. I carried him and pushed around an empty stroller like I meant to do that. I broke the seal and threw down my first public nursing episode which was as delightful as I imagined it would be.

He wailed and straight-up angry screamed. I started having real talk with my infant -- like, dude, you are not in danger so chill out. And as I carried my howling baby in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other, pushing my stroller through Target with my belly, not even a single person gave me side-eye. During office hours, that place is power-packed with the mystical somehow-gets-to-stay-at-home-moms. They get me and my personal struggle bus.

Look at those peeky eyes. Hey mom! Party time!
Wine o'clock in T minus 24 minutes.