Cranky

My chubby, sweet baby is snug in her bed, wearing her lightweight footie pajamas (Please tell me--is there anything cuter than a baby in footie pajamas?), listening to a little Vivaldi to help her sleep and I am flat out cranky. Elsa starts daycare tomorrow and Derek is back at work, after three weeks off with her, and I'm not at all thrilled that either of them has to leave the house tomorrow. They've had a great time together for the last three weeks. I get almost daily reports of trips to Menards, and Elsa has been sitting in her bouncy chair in the yard, watching Derek get the outside work done. (I really wish I had seen that.) I come home to a clean house, dinner and something organized, straightened up or fixed most days. I have been running the "the people are nice at daycare-kids survive daycare-it's good that we work" conversations through my head and they are not helping. I do know we'll all survive this. I do know that the people at daycare are first rate and amazing at their jobs. I'm certain that I need my job--probably more for the social interaction and problem solving than the money. But I'm cranky. And I'm not looking forward to tomorrow.