The glamorous rockstar life

So yesterday, I'm getting ready for our gig. This used to entail picking out an outfit, doing my hair and makeup, and making sure I had a set list. With the wee one, it now involves doing a load of laundry, running the dishwasher, cleaning the house for the sitter, feeding the baby, prepping bottles for the evening, changing the baby, dressing myself, changing myself after discovering spit-up down my back, changing the baby after diaper blow-out, hair, makeup, and set list. Then off to the show, where my boobs steadily turn rock hard and painful. Back home afterward, where my sweet baby is asleep, and I immediately attach myself to the breast pump for some relief. Then I fall into bed, only to be woken by the hungry lass a couple hours later. It's like I'm a singing vending machine. You want milk? I got it. You want the backup vocals for "Highway to Hell"? Can do.