I didn’t set my alarm last night, as we just got back from a trip out of town for my sister in law’s wedding (where, despite plenty of help in the childcare arena, my kids embarrassed me plenty) and I was exhausted.
I woke up to the baby monitor. It went a little something like ” Ba. Ba. Huh. Baaa….OHMYGODIMDYINGWHEREAREYOUSOMEONEJUSTSTABBEDMEBUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAAAAAAA! (SOB)”.
I sprint into the baby’s room to find her wee thunder thigh stuck between the crib rails. I break a sweat. She squeals. Eventually she is disengaged. Naturally, the expressions of true agony and despair have woken my son. I allow him to pee and then send him back to bed.
I give Genevieve a bottle. She does her best to shove the entirety of her finger up my nose, roughly 15 times.
Payne wakes back up, goes back into the bathroom, and comes out exclaiming “Mommy, my pee pee on your shower!”. I consider it best to go investigate the source of this juicy little headline, setting Genevieve down on the floor beside the recliner. As it turns out, Payne has managed to pee all over the side of the bathtub while standing in front of the toilet (“My just moved my wiener, Mommy!”). I clean this up fairly easily, as similar incidents have given me fair reason to just leave the economy sized barrel of Clorox wipes in Payne’s bathroom.
I return to the living room to find Genevieve happily splashing around in a puddle of her own spit up. She gets cleaned up (wisely, I chose other methods than Clorox wipes). Then Payne refuses breakfast and nails a barnacle impression while slumped on the couch watching his cartoons, as Genevieve alternates between crying at me and trying to pull up on the chair, while I drink my coffee.
Eventually I’m prepared for the day, and considering the baby took a nearly two hour nap I’m positive she’s going to be a dream while we’re out, so I call my Mom to meet us for lunch at a place with grown up food. We run our errands and get done early. Hurrah! Payne has fallen asleep in the car so I let him snooze while Genevieve destroys the front half of the car and gives her all to the task of stealing and eating paper napkins.
Payne wakes up, is miserable (the usual post nap precarious emotional state + no couch = sobbing). We get out of the car to wait outside for my Mom, as I’m hoping that will get Payne out of wallowing in the misery of polyester encased car nap sweaty head. Genevieve wants nothing but to get down and crawl, so much so that she repeatedly and violently tries to wiggle out of my grasp. If I lower her so she can stand with support, she simply pulls her legs up at a 90 degree angle, ass parallel to the ground. I give up, set her down on the pavement, give Payne a snack, and return my attention to the baby, only to find her happily picking at a dried gum puck on the sidewalk. I squeal, my phone beeps, Mom is running late.
I take the kids into the restaurant. Payne is crying. I order, find a table. Payne is sobbing. I go get a high chair off of the impossibly high stack of them with Genevieve wiggling on one arm while Payne trails after me sobbing. He helps me push the highchair back to the table, sobbing, as other patrons of the restaurant start to look annoyed. I set G down in the highchair. She starts sobbing. You can’t crawl in a high chair, people! I go get my drink, as Payne trails after me, sobbing. I sit him down. Both kids are sobbing. I stand equidistant between them and don’t know what do to. Other people are staring. Our food shows up. I start to cut some up for Payne as he sobs. Then he manages to wail out that he has to go potty. I leave our food and wordly possessions at the table and take him to the bathroom. My Mom finds us there. We return to the table and attempt to converse. Not gonna happen. Genevieve squirts two pouches of baby food into her lap and as I lift her up to clean her (instead of flinging the goop covered pouches across the restaurant, as I dearly wanted) I realize she needs a new diaper. I walk to the bathroom, only to remember that we’re in the only restaurant in suburbia that doesn’t have a changing table (Eff youuuuu Pei Wei! The under four crowd likes Mongolian beef too!), so I march her out to the car to change her, sweating and wondering how quickly my saucy lunch is congealing.
After that things calm down a bit. I mean, Payne spills his cheerios all over the floor and the manager comes over to fake sweet talk Genevieve in a way that says “Your squawky baby is obnoxious. Take her home.” Ohhhh and she works in one of those annoying passive agressive digs by cooing “Oooh. You don’t feel good, I can tell!” to Genevieve, because she has a runny nose. She’s TEETHING biatch! She’s not sick. No that isn’t why she’s loud or crabby. She just is, so shut your face and put an age limit on the door if you can’t handle some whining from a nine month old.
I’m such a peach.
Where was I? Oh yes, well, my Mom offers to take Payne since its obvious I’m not at my best. Ha. I happily accept. We leave and as I buckle Genevieve into the car I make a happy discovery. I’d been smelling this heavy, sweet smell inside my car for a day or so. It reminded me of antifreeze, so I was starting to worry that I had a leak somewhere. Well, I opened my center console and, happy day!, it wasn’t antifreeze. My kid had very simply squashed a honey packet from McDonald’s into my condiment stash. The smell wasn’t a car leak, it was my center console flooded with honey! I actually am thrilled by this discovery. The day is looking up, people! I scrub that mess out and add the wipes to the pile of garbage on the floor of the passenger seat.
Genevieve and I go to the grocery store. I get a cart, get the baby settled in her seat, then grab all of my trash and head for the entrance. This woman walking out positively stares me down with a disgusted look on her face. All I can think is that it’s because I’m carrying in a used diaper? I mean, it’s not like its covered in poop smears or anything. It’s just a balled up diaper…. Well, I decide whatever the reason for her animosity, she can eff off. So, I give her my most winning smile. Heh heh. I’ve never seen anybody break eye contact so fast.
The rest of the trip goes smoothly. I get G down for another nap, make most of dinner, do dishes, laundry, I ironed. Ok guys, I never iron. The dry cleaner knows me by sight, I strategically use clothes pins to mash down little bows on baby clothes etc…, in college I used to race from the dryer back to my dorm room and set textbooks on laundry trouble spots. So, obviously I decided such grown up behavior is worth a reward. Ice cream!
I get out my bowl, my teeny spoon (ice cream is always better on a teeny spoon) my Bluebell Red Velvet cake, and….
You know what? I’m going to bed.