Sleepy.

I found out yesterday that my thryoid function is way off--much too low. Mom's been telling me for years to go get it checked, since she has Hashimoto's disease and various other family members also have thyroid problems. But the test involves having blood taken, which I am WAY squeamish about, so I've just never done it. Yes, I'd rather be exhausted, depressed, fat, constipated, cold all the time, and have incredibly dry skin and hair than have a needle stuck in me to determine whether said symptoms actually have a biological cause and aren't just the result of my own insanity. It's my blood, and I'd like to keep it all, thank you very much.
But I finally did it. There's only so long that you can tell yourself you're just tired because you have a baby before you realize that going to bed at 7 p.m. and not getting up until 7 a.m. and yet still needing a nap (or two) in order to make it through the day is just not normal under any circumstances. (Well, unless you ARE the baby, of course, rather than the baby's momma.) And did that really long sentence make any sense by the time I got to the end of it? I don't know--it's past my bedtime.
Yesterday I almost fell asleep at my desk at work. Just lucky I didn't drool on any handouts.
So anyway, I finally did surrender vial upon evil vial of my precious blood for testing last week and now I have a bottle full of little peach pills to show for it. I'm supposed to take one every morning, starting tomorrow, and my life will magically be better. Bibbity, bobbity, boo.
In other news, Eli can no longer deny that Eliot is in fact saying "momma" and not just babbling incoherently. We were sitting in the living room floor playing today and he (Eliot, not Eli) was saying over and over, "Mom mom mom mom, momma, momma, mom mom" and just grinning at me and leaning over and hugging me. He's the best little kid. So Eli conceded. I win. And no "dada" or anything close has been uttered as of yet, either, making the "momma" victory oh so much sweeter.
In addition to "momma," I've heard him say "baba," which I do think means "bottle," and "caca," which I take to refer to Mumford. In fact, "caca" is what I'll be calling Mumford now, after he puked on the living room rug this afternoon for the thousandth time.