Arsenic hour toesday

This is what happens when arsenic hour gets too tough to take. When bub's screaming coz you fed her, coz you bathed her, coz you breathed for chrissake. And then had the nerve to dress her, you unworthy minion. And when you are about to steel yourself for the final scream of indignity at the inhumanity of swaddling but realise that she has outgrown the jumpsuit you have fought long and hard to get her into, do you dare to take her out of it and put her in something else? By gods, no, you get a pair of scissors, get those adorable feet out of the way, and cut the frickin socks out of it.