(This started as a comment on this post from Swistle about what a normal day with a baby is really like. I'm sure she is quite grateful I decided to move over here with it.)
I had this boss once who was a fine manager in many ways and an outright disaster in many others. She would call me into her office or come tearing into mine with her hair on fire and some disastrous catastrophe that she needed me to drop everything else to research, solve, present the elegant solution to our VP within two hours, and while I was at it make sure the entire thing was somebody else's fault. Which I would do, because I am that good. So I would bust my ass for two hours, move mountains, change the laws of physics, screech into her office before the deadline with all requested components completed ready to face the VP, and she would look at me like I was insane. Somebody somewhere had decided this was no longer an issue, why was I still working on it? Well, you didn't tell me. And why isn't any of my other work done? Well, because I was putting out your fires all day.
Or else, she would give me an assignment and tell me oh, nothing critical, get to it when you get to it. And naturally, twenty minutes later, she would be all over my IM wanting an update, what had I done, why wasn't I finished yet? Well, because you said no rush.
And then, she thought she was a fabulous multi-tasker. She would take a meeting while on a conference call and answering email and responding to pages (back when we all still had pagers because we thought we were so important), but really she just never had any idea what you were saying in the meeting or what was happening on the call or what was really in her email. Then she would want to know why I hadn't told her something. But I had, three times in three different ways.
It was a non-ideal working environment. But it sure prepared me for day to day life with a baby.
A baby will scream her fool head off because she is starving to death and cannot abide another instant without nourishment and if she doesn't get a boob or a bottle up in here stat it will ruin her hopes of ever going to college. So you scramble, you jump out of the shower, you snag the bottle with your toes without putting down the double armload of groceries, you arrive the conquering hero to save your poor, suffering child, and the baby is over it. Not hungry. Not in the slightest. Why are you shoving that boob in my face?
Or the baby is chilling in his bouncy chair, sucking on his toes, nothing to see here, you just go right ahead and keep folding the laundry, Mommy. And then MAYDAY MAYDAY and there is poop on the ceiling fan and you spend the rest of the day scouring your house with disinfecting wipes. And then all the kid wants to know is why is favorite blankie has been festering in the washing machine all day.
And of course, the kid stops listening to a damned thing you say pretty much simultaneously with language acquisition, then they want to know why you didn't tell them that hauling a chair over from the kitchen table and planting a chubby fist in the middle of the frying pan you are using to cook dinner was going to hurt their ittle wittle fingers? I did tell you, three million times.
It isn't all bad, not by a long shot. Much of it is amazing. But much of it is like spending every minute of your life with the worst boss you ever had. At least they can't fire you for writing about them on the internet.