It’s Tuesday. Feels like Thursday. Have I really only gone through 1 day in this week? I wake up around 5 and get more done (if you count changing diapers and pretending to drink chocolate juice out of a wooden block as “more”) before eleven than most people I know. But at eleven, as if I’m Batman, my life changes. Why you ask? Because nap time is on its way!
By 12 the kids are asleep and if I’m lucky, I am too. Sharing the couch with our dog, Kiki – curtains closed – stomach growling, but too tired to do anything about it – head resting on a not very comfortable pillow as I exhaustedly tell myself that I don’t care about the light coming through a gap in the curtain – and….and….and…. I’m out in a few seconds.
Dreaming. Half listening for crying. Wait! That was crying!
I jump up. Dog and pillows spill onto the floor. Running towards the bedrooms. Which room the crying is coming from?
It’s the baby. Rushing in and…and…and…and…
And is that poop everywhere?
Yes, he’s pulled off his diaper. There’s poop on bunny. On owlie. On blue bunny. On himself. On the sheets. On great Aunt Somebody’s hand-knit blanket. On that other blanket. And the other blanket. Oh yeah. And would you look at that. It’s on the crib too. Now how did he get it all the way up there? I look at his hands. Oh. That’s how.
This is my so called life.