If I have given you the impression that I have my act together, please let me disillusion you. I do not. Not always. Not even close. I try really hard, and I have quite nice children, but like any (every?) other mom, we have plenty of those days. Let me tell you about mine.
Last night, I went to bed without finishing my house work, so I woke up to a house that was already a few feet behind the starting line. The cleaning fairy has yet again disappointed me. I am convinced that the kids see a messy house as being permission to go wild, and they did so with aplomb.
The baby was in a crappy mood because she had failed to have a crap for a few days, not counting the weensy little stone she dropped on the toddler's floor last night. The toddler was tired because we had a weekend of birthday festivities which she has yet to recover from. They were both peaches. Rotten ones.
In an attempt to salvage the day, my sister and I brought them to the mall to use the Build A Bear gift card that a kind soul had given the toddler. When Build A Bear and a pretzel fail to do bring more than a hint of a smile, you know you should just give up and pull the blankets over your head. But I soldiered on, and put dinner in front of them. No, they didn't eat. They also didn't eat lunch. Or breakfast. I think they have a secret stash of cookies somewhere.
After dinner, the baby did another adorable little nugget in her diaper. It didn't restore her mood at all, unfortunately. I put her in the tub and promptly heard the toddler say "She coloring with she butt." She was indeed. A little turtle head of poo was drawing lines on the tub floor as she played. I figured at that point she may as well stay in and hopefully the warm water would relax her bum into finally releasing the hounds. After all, what is the difference between a little poo and a lot of poo? I let the toddler go while I waited for the baby to deliver the prize. It was not epic, but at least it was out. Mood improved somewhat, until I took her out of the tub to clean it. I'm not sure why she was crying when I was the one scooping finless brown trout out of the tub.
Retrieved the toddler from my bedroom where she had rearranged all of Daddy's special magazines. No, not that kind, thank goodness. Architectural Digest type things. Successfully bathed two kids.
Left the toddler naked while I fed the baby. Who promptly had a huge blowout that was not adorable. Ok, fine. Better out than in. While cleaning up the baby and changing her outfit, I heard "Uh oh, poop!" Yes, thank you Captain Obvious. I know she pooped. Except, she wasn't talking about the baby. She was talking about herself. She had laid a log in the corner, and tracked it across the rug, along with the bits of fruit that made up said log. Yeah, over share maybe, but I saw it, so you shall too.
It was at that point that I knew the worst was over. What else could happen? Oh, well, the toddler had gone on a self punishing crime spree and had stolen her own pacifier out of her crib. I could not find it. I looked in all the usual spots. Gone. I was way too tired to deal with a screaming kid all night. Soon it will happen, but not tonight. I debated waking up the baby to go to the store for a new pacifier, but that was not truly an option. I debated calling my mommy, but that was also not truly an option. Ok, tonight was the night. No binky. Sigh. I put her in bed, and left, wondering how much wine I'd have to drink to make her screams sound pleasant. I did not have enough wine. On the bright side, while cleaning up the hazmat zone kitchen, I did find her pacifier in the bag from Build A Bear, and was able to get it to her before the emotional trauma was too steep to overcome without a life time of therapy (for me.)
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