Day Sixteen

What She Wore: Running pants, a thousand-year-old t-shirt from Stonehenge. Don't judge me--I had a rough night.

How freaking embarassing is this?

Last night, Charlie cried for three straight hours. Not just crying--blood-curdling screams. He would briefly fall asleep and then would wake up screaming his head off again. This is not at all like him, and we have a lot of body systems (heart, brain) to worry about, so after a couple of hours I started to get a little nervous. My mom decides to call the pediatrician. The only problem? I'm at her house, and we don't have the number. So, she calls information, and gets a number. She dials. IT WAS HIS HOUSE PHONE. We woke up the doctor at eleven-thirty at night because we had a screaming baby. He was so out of it he didn't even know which baby we were talking about, and I've seen him twice this week.

In my mom's defense, she specifically asked the operator if this was a listed number. We were just trying to get an answering service or the on-call doc--not wake the poor guy up.

How am I ever supposed to go back to this guy?