Why I'm going grey before 30:

Just a few minutes from my day today:

12:20 PM: On the phone with work, trying to work out a design "crisis." Baby is smearing peanut butter all over his hands, but making mmmm sounds because he likes it sooo much.

12:35 PM: Baby is done with lunch, but covered in peanut butter. Start bath water.

12:37 PM: Take down baby gates so as not to kill self/baby while carrying him around.

12:39 PM: Remove tray from high chair and put in sink to rinse contents.

12:40 PM: Get baby out of high chair carefully, so as NOT to get peanut butter all over myself.

12:41 PM: Get baby in bathroom, unsnap top of outfit. Doorbell rings.

12:42 PM: Race stupid dog to the door, kicking him off of the baby and me while trying to figure out who in the world would be so stupid as to show up NOW.

12:43 PM: Watch the FedEX man run away after he left package at door. Set baby down for ONE SECOND to open door and grab box, while trying to beat off the dog who really wants to attack the FedEX man and smother him with kisses.

12:44 PM: FedEX man drives off, dog busts through the door and finds a technician from the city's electric company to bark at while chasing their truck/trailer. Hang up on poor guy from work, pick up baby, because there are NO baby gates up, and the bath water is running. I pick up peanut butter covered baby, run outside screaming like an idiot at the (*&#@^* dog, who instead of going inside when I threaten to send him to Doggy Heaven runs the other way. Continue this for what seems like forever. In my pajamas and slippers, in front of the guys from the electric company, the neighbors, and God. Continue screaming and chasing dog until he realizes that certain death is near if he does not GET BACK INSIDE THE HOUSE YOU STUPID DOG! RIGHT NOW! I MEAN IT! YOU GET BACK INSIDE THIS VERY INSTANT BEFORE I KILL YOU! BUSTER! GET INSIDE NOOOOOOW! INSIDE! INSIDE!INSIDE NOOOOW!

12:53 PM: Finally get stupid dog back inside, shut door and get baby into the bath. Notice the house looks like a herd of tazmanian devils have torn through it. Forget about the mess and bathe the baby.

12:54 PM: Baby decides he is done with the bath and tries to climb out of the tub, but slips and barely misses having his precious head smashed into the floor.

1:10 PM: Baby is washed, cleaned and dressed. I can finally relax. RIIIGHT. I still have to clean up the lunch mess, pick up toys, shower, dress and become presentable, finish up the "design crisis" artwork, call work back (because I hung up on them, remember?), email about 4 other clients back about their design work and go grocery shopping, all before 4:00 so that I can leave to head to in-laws for dinner on time.

That, my friends is the reason for the big grey hair in the middle of my forehead. The one I want to pluck, but am afraid to for fear that seven friends actually will show up to mourn its loss.