Okay, I'm sure I've experienced "bat-shit crazy" more than twice since Penelope was born, but today brought on a whole new meaning of the term.
I had one of those days where my normally inquisitive, attentive, chill baby shifted into an incredibly fussy, please don't put me down or I'm going to scream as you walk down the street/try to have a cup of coffee/attempt to bury your frustration in retail therapy/eat a sandwich, kind of child.
But this afternoon, as opposed to this morning when I cried twice because I didn't have a pillow to muffle a scream into, I took a different approach.
I talked to her. A lot.
I sang to her. A lot.
I made faces at her. A little.
I realized I've become that crazy lady that I used to see walking down the street singing "bom bom bom bom, boom chica chica" and rocking the stroller from side to side. I remember raising my eyebrow in curiosity. Now, I understand that the woman who is exchanging "ma ma ma ma ma" sounds with a stroller is doing. I have become the woman who is making faces and race car sounds as she runs down the side walk as fast as she can hoping for a single smile or, at the very least, a few minutes of silence... as people in the cars drive by wondering what the fuck I'm on.
Retail therapy: A new tunic to replace the one that the baby has stretched out attempting to get to boob for the fourth time in two hours, a bottle of red wine to go with the BBQ steak that will become tonight`s comfort food and a pair of amazing shoes on hold - because you shouldn't go broke with retail therapy - but you also shouldn't let an amazing pair of shoes pass you by! 
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