Or, It's A Good Thing They're Cute.
An accounting of my daily activities, a la Bridget Jones' Diary, which I've just finished and highly recommend as hysterically hilarious.
7:45am Baby and I wake up in the chair in my room. Sunlight streaming in. Hmmm. Feeling unusually clearheaded for this time of day. Realize that I've actually gotten enough sleep. Decide to celebrate achievement/miracle by handing Baby off to Hubby and crawling back into bed.
8:30am Entire family comes in to wake me up. I head downstairs for some much needed coffee and quick email check. Blurg. Why'd I go back to bed?
10:00am Feeling confident and organized, despite residual sleep-blurginess (despite shower, coffee and multiple trips upstairs and down), I head out of the house, Baby and Boy loaded up in the car. Make leaving-the-house small talk with friend and neighbor, Marlene, along the lines of "yup, hanging in there, you?" Because I am weak, and cherish silence in the car, the sounds of Speed Racer soon fill the air. Baby says "Ma-ma, ba-ba, aaaahhh!" at top decibel level. Boy screams "Morgan, BE QUIET!" I go to my Happy Place.
10:23am Leaving the mailbox place. One mission accomplished. I am ON IT, baby!
10:45am Drop 4, count 'em 4, boxes of T-O-Y-S off at Goodwill, sans Boy noticing (thank you, Speed Racer), sans feelings of guilt about giving away toys. Free at last, free at last! Baby screams "MA MA MA MA AAAAHHHH!" until brain hurts. Boy inconsolable over inability to hear Speed Racer. I vainly attempt to point out that his screams, in addition to making it actually louder in the car, also serve to make Baby think that it's Time For Screaming. Happy, happy, happy place.
11:30am Meet Hubby for lunch. Baby had dropped off for about 20 minutes in car, but pulled herself back into consciousness by Herculean effort. Proceeded to charm and delight entire restaurant. Hmph. Boy ate NOTHING.
12:10pm Back home. Confident feeling leading to delusions of finishing cleaning up kitchen, locating more T-O-Y-S to donate, talking on phone with friends (I owe calls to 4 people, yikes), maybe completing some bonding-type activity with Boy while Baby naps.
1:00pm Afternoon proceeding nicely. Minimum altercation intervention required, so am allowed to surf the net in between bouts of removing items from Baby's mouth and removing Baby from Boy's presence. Boy is playing with Indoor Sandbox (brilliant idea for Xmas gift, pat self on back) at kitchen table. Baby yawns. I leave Boy with sandbox in full swing and television on and instructions to Stay Downstairs.
1:07pm Mission aborted. Evidently, Baby not tired, and not willing to let me read book (as referenced above) while nursing. Head back downstairs.
1:33pm Change poopy Baby diaper, which includes not merely poop, but playdoh. Green mixed with yellow, black, and white. Really must make more of an effort to sweep kitchen floor at end of day.
1:41pm Boy announces, "I peed!" (still in diapers, grrrr, but not thinking about that right now, happy place, happy place.) Decide that Boy should remove own pants and diaper. Boy makes 1/16th-assed attempt at pulling down one-size-too-big pants and says, "I can't, it's too strong!" Uh-huh. He finally manages to remove pants and diaper, but steadfastly refuses attempt at putting on new diaper himself. Seems to be under impression that I Was Put On This Earth To Do For Him. (As Miss Cornelia would say, "Just like a man.") I assist in the donning of the diaper and pants.
1:52pm I see a red-faced, teary-eyed Boy in the playroom. I'm concerned that his feelings have somehow been stepped on until he quickly states loudly, " Not yet, Mom. Wait until I'm finished pooping!" Okay, so he's red-faced and teary-eyed for another reason. Offer potty. Refused. Duh.
2:01pm Uh-oh. I belatedly realize that I've established a precedent in the realm of Diaper Removal. Therefore, feel morally compelled to instruct Boy to remove own pants. Miraculously, he does! Yes, yes! I'm Parent-of-the-Year! Really belatedly realize that he should not remove actual diaper, as being in very poopy status. And really, very amazingly belatedly realizing that must move things along quickly due to impending Infant Assistance. Try not to make eye contact with Baby across the room while trying to hurry Molasses Boy into lying down and submitting to poop change. Fortunately, a relatively intact poop (Ha! You NEEDED that information!), so quick clean-up. Flip Boy to stand-up position just as Baby enters atmo. HA! Completely forget to suggest that Boy dress himself, so all previous good work probably unraveled.
2:14pm Baby really tired now. Yawning, fussing, crazy. Boy is absorbed in tv show ("Lazytown", which is too weird to explain, think Duracell battery plastic people meets superhero with healthy living message). Check the channel to find out what the next program is (yay for satellite tv). Uh-oh. Rugrats. Boy thinks he doesn't like this show, only it's because I make disappointed and yucky noises whenever it's on because *I* hate it. Well, that's okay. Baby is so tired, she'll drop right off to sleep and will be back downstairs before Rugrats is on anyway. Instruct Boy to watch tv and Remain Downstairs.
2:30pm Am reading Bridget Jones' Diary while nursing sleeping Baby. Yes, this is good. OMG. Find this book so funny, and since have just recently reread Pride and Prejudice, spend a few minutes comparing and contrasting, as BJD is a modern adaptation.
2:31pm What was that noise? Nothing. Could be The Boy. Sometimes he forgets where I am, even if I make eye contact with him before I come upstairs. Gorram tv.
2:32pm Sounds like "Moooommmm!" Shit. Keep reading. Baby's almost finished nursing. Keep reading. He'll be alright for a couple more minutes.
2:33pm "MMMOOOOOMMMMMYYYYY! Help! Help!" Sounds of sobbing. Bloody goddamned hell. Shit, fuck, shit. Can I detach Baby and plop her in crib? Attempt to, but unwisely did not break suction, so OWWWW! Baby opens eyes as if to say, "May I help you?"
2:33:30pm "MMMOOOOMMMYYY! MMMOOOOMMMYY! OOHHH! I'm SO SAD!" Fine. Rise from chair with Baby still attached and eyeballing me, dash downstairs. Baby POPS off (thank god). My poor Boy is sobbing on the couch. "What's the matter, honey? You poor boy." "Mommy, I don't LIKE this show! I want you to change the channel!!!!!" Bloody gorram Rugrats! Struggle not to rage at Boy, but instead try my best to point out that he can turn tv off (ha!) or wait for me to come back downstairs. He's too distraught to listen to reason. I'm too pissed off to continue conversation. Baby is awake and playing happily.
2:35pm New show on tv. Boy happy. Blood pressure slowly decreasing, although I can still hear percolating in head. Hmmm. Need caffeine. Damn! No diet coke. Contemplate alcohol. Warm up left over coffee from this morning. Fish yet another item from Baby's mouth. Listen to endless chatter from Boy at sandbox as he plays contentedly and is completely ignoring tv. Stare in daze at living room and kitchen. Quickly come to upon noticing that large amounts of sand have escaped the approved container and remind Boy about rule regarding sand. Assist in returning remnants to "construction site." Dear, imaginative, little soul.
2:47pm Have had idea that ideal way to deal with daytime pressure of stay-at-home parent job would be to blog a la Bridget Jones' Diary, which I really enjoyed, as have mentioned above.
2:56pm Back in Baby's room, nursing her to sleep, having made really good and damn sure that only Boy-approved shows will be on tv for the next 12 hours.
3:01pm Success! Baby in crib asleep. And it only took 2 hours! Boy and I have snack while I surf net and put up to three dishes in the dishwasher. Contemplate calling friends, but too tired to talk. Play in sandbox with Boy, reminding him that the sand needs to stay in the sandbox. Help him sweep up remains of sand storm (curse you, Speed Racer!).
3:30pm Baby screams. Although neither unusual nor unexpected, still unwelcome and wrong wrong wrong! Hurry upstairs to nurse her back to sleep (sometimes that works), reminding Boy to Stay Downstairs and I Will Come Right Back Down.
3:50pm Hmph. Baby has evidently decided that she is refreshed and rested after mere 30 minutes of nap (added to 20 minutes earlier in the car for grand total of 50 minutes). Pretty sure recommended daily nap allotment for 9 month old babies around 3 hours. Right. Plus, gone too long from downstairs. Wondering about Boy.
3:51pm OMG. It's quiet. Absolutely silent down here. No prob. Sometimes he likes to hide. Uh-oh. Not in family room or playroom. Must be kitchen. "Hmmm. I wonder where Ryan could be hiding?" Nothing. In a split second I am struck with the thought that he's been kidnapped or fallen down a well or is somewhere beyond my reach. Oh no! No! "Ryan! Ryan!"
3:53pm Sweeping up mounds and mounds of sand from under kitchen table where Boy was hiding and playing "soldier" (huh? how does he know that word?). Cursing the day I ever saw that catalog with happy Stepford children playing neatly with Indoor Sandbox, not a crumb out of place. Boy is giggling. Baby is eating sand.
4:00pm Return phone call from Hubby who delights me with the news that he will be home early. O Frabjous Day!
4:07pm Since it's 70 degrees and January, I feel morally compelled to take kids outside for fresh air. We have a nice little stroll. For a brief, halucinatory second, I imagine that Baby will fall back asleep. (Insert maniacal laughing here.) Boy is really chummy and delightful, insisting upon making sure it's safe to cross the street and declaring things like "This is the Super Secret Red Soldier Hill." (I mean, has he recently watched Platoon or something?) He's also wearing a red construction PeopleGuy hat. Super cute. Baby is giggling at everything he says.
5:10pm Hubby arrives home and I rejoice. We have more adventures in the evening, including Baby puking up rice in a restaurant very, very publicly and cheerfully, and Boy imagining that Bad Guy Soldiers wouldn't let him join the team and literally reducing himself to tears over this (again, WTF?, but it was so hard not to laugh).
11:24pm Aaaahhh. Kids in bed. Blogging and drinking margaritas. I'm in my Happy Place.
Summary of Day: Number of diapers changed: 7, Number of times checked email: 12, Number of crying episodes (me or otherwise): 3 (v.g.), Number of margaritas: 2, Number of laughing bouts, snuggles, smiles, and high-fives: 167. I win!