SAHM = Save A Harried Mother

Okay, not really. But I think that even with one child, a small apartment and modern technology, I now know that I was right in thinking I will never be June Cleaver or Donna Reed.

This weekend was a rough weekend, with the first signs of winter giving me a preview of yet another reason why I fled Happy Valley and The Frontier the first (and second) time. I decided this week, with it's sunny 60-70-degree glory, was going to be better. I was going to tackle one room a day, so by the end of the week I wasn't looking at disasters that were better suited for a bachelor pad.

Monday started with both Baby G and I all discombobulated because we had to be out of the house by 9:30 in order to make a 10:15 appointment in the suburbs. Never in my life (since freshman year at USU when I had stayed out all night) have I, the self-proclaimed morning person, had such an ordeal making it out of the house by 9:30. Somehow, when I have to be somehwere, it suddenly takes three times as long to feed, diaper and dress Baby G. Somehow, I've forgotten how to look cute and my clothes don't fit, so it took me three times as long to get ready.

The insanity continued when Himself called to see if we'd pay him a visit at work so he could show Baby G off. No problem - except he works on the opposite end of the valley in a lab that is not close to any visitor parking. I drove to the hospital, parked in the visitor garage and lugged Baby G in her carseat (cursing the fact that Himself took the stroller out of the trunk) through the emergency entrance, up to the main lobby, across the sky bridge, up to the medical school labs, through the nephrology department into Himself's lab. At that point I was praying lenghthy prayers of gratitude that Baby G doesn't even weigh as much as her carseat yet.

We arrived home in time to feed G and for me to sort out a near-disaster at work. Then it was time to make dinner. Somehow, I managed to throw together Balti Chicken and Veggies between running in to save Baby G from whatever disaster was causing her to melt down in gut-wrenching sobs (it was usually the pesky pacifier falling out that was the culprit).

Tuesday actually went almost as planned. Baby G actually slept, which meant I managed to do several batches of laundry. I also re-discovered my coffee table for the first time in a month. The vacuum even made an appearance. I got some work done and the dishwasher loaded and run. Unfortunately, the laundry didn't actually get folded or put away - instead it took up what seems like semi-permanent residence in my armchair. I didn't mind - I got dressed for no reason, made Spanish chicken and rice and paid a visit to a potential sitter for Baby G. So what if the laundry didn't get done? I could fold it tomorrow, after which I'd tackle the bathroom.

Except Wednesday came and it was just as insane as Monday, because Baby G refused to nap and somehow the kitchen had become a massive disaster overnight. So, the laundry remained. I strapped Baby G to my chest in her Snugli and set to work unloading and loading the dishwasher and finding the countertops. Then we went up the canyon. I managed to make tacos, only because the world stood still just long enough to fry up ground beef and throw the other fixings out on the counter.

No matter - I could do some work and straighten up after Baby G went to bed. Except, Baby G never went to bed. She slept, but only fitfully, and only in my arms, which meant I spent most of the night on the couch trying to read by the light of the nightlight so I didn't disturb Baby G anymore than she already was.

Today I didn't have to be anywhere - the perfect day to try to tackle another room and the growing pile of laundry (I had, after all, accomplished another batch yesterday, since Baby G insists on never leaving the hamper standing empty). Unfortunately, Baby G's persistent tummy troubles remained and she didn't sleep. I managed to get in a batch of pumpkin bars (barely) requested by Himself, to take to visit a friend tonight. Never before has a simple recipe manifested itself into a three-ring circus as I tried to talk on the phone, eat the chicken noodle soup my mom brought when she was up, talk on the phone and carry Baby G around in her Snugli, since she's still on the "I'm not sleeping unless half of me is draped across or next to some body part of mommy's" kick. Somehow, amongst all the chaos, I didn't hear the timer go off. Luckily I thought, "this has been the longest 20 minutes of my life," and lo and behold a half hour had gone by. Apparently one cannot burn pumpkin bars merely by overcooking them for 10 minutes. We won't tell Himself.

So, the week draws to a close tomorrow and the only thing I've actually accomplished is finding the coffee table. Even that is doubtful, as it now harbors several stray things that weren't there on Tuesday. The laundry still taunts me from its armchair throne, the bathroom still looks like the aftermath of a wartorn country, Baby G's room looks like the dumping ground for all things lost and misplaced (thanks to the menfolk assembling her new crib last weekend without actually making room for it first) and our room looks like someone is contemplating running away, due to the clothing strewn from here to there and the half-empty suitcase on the floor from last week's visit to The Parents' house.

So much for ambition.