Mads wakes up on the wrong side of the bed at 7:30. Grumpiest of all grumpies. So I get up, change the gigundous diaper full of pee, and head to the bathroom to brush our teeth. I'm brushing mine while babe sits in the bumbo chewing on the toothpaste tube. I probably should have checked to make sure the cap was closed properly before I handed it to her, but ya know. Toothpaste. Everywhere. I clean Mads up with a baby wipe and then start brushing her teeth. She's screaming, I'm trying to brush her tongue, and she's just fighting me the whole time. Baby toothpaste. Everywhere. I should have thrown that babe in the bath, but I knew she would have breakfast all over her in three minutes, so I just stripped her down and wiped her with three more baby wipes. With babe on my hip, I throw Jeffrey's work clothes in the washing machine and pinch my finger in the lid. Sonofabitch. To the kitchen, I'm trying to make baby some oatmeal with pears, one handed, but I turn the water on way too high, shooting oatmeal, pears, and water all over my face. Mads cracks her first smile of the day. Real funny. I plop her on the floor and restart her breakfast. She's screaming, the washing machine is making an awful banging noise, and there's poop on my arm. Where the hell did the poop come from?? So Mads goes into the shower, I do a quick wash/rinse trying to sing You are my Sunshine without baring my teeth, new diaper and some clothes this time. The washing machine sounds like it's banging down the laundry room door. I scrub the poop stain out of the carpet, one handed, and go back to making that stupid breakfast. I finally get it right and plop babe back in the bumbo to feed her. Choo Choo! Here comes the oatmeal train! Mads opens her mouth wide, sucks off the spoonful of oatmeal, and then spits it right back in my face. Holy fucking spit. I wipe with a dishtowel and then try the airplane instead, maybe she just doesn't like trains. Sonofabitch. She doesn't like airplanes either. Breakfast is officially over, and my face is covered in the stickiest shit in the world.
Jeffrey? He's still asleep.
Baby is back on my hip, I'm walking down the hallway trying to wipe my face with a baby wipe when bam, elbow to the doorknob. The doorknob? Why the hell is that door even closed? Open door... Sonofabitch. (Now I have to explain. The door goes to the cat's room. Yes, the cat is so precious that she has her own room. She is also a fucking bitch. Don't ever piss that cat off, she'll shit on your pillow, I swear.) Wicca darts out of the room with a growl to tell me just how pissed she is that she was locked in her room all night, and I see the floor around her litter box covered in litter and two poop nuggets. Little shit kicked almost all of her cat litter out of that box as payback. Thank God I just changed that shit yesterday. So I skip this mess to switch the laundry to the dryer. I lift the lid without looking and wet sticky nastiness flies through the room. SONOFABITCH! The twenty-five pound economy sized laundry detergent that Jeffrey just had to have is leaking all over the fracking lid. The clothes? Soapy. I take the stupid detergent off the shelf and turn the washer back on. I'm cleaning that, one handed of course, when Mads starts getting all fussy and rubbing her eyes. She's tired? She's only been up for like an hour! So I'm rocking her, and rocking, and rocking, and rocking. Jesus Christ kid, there's poop on the floor, could you just go to sleep?? Finally she goes to sleep and I toss her in the crib to go clean up Wicca's room. I'm vacuuming and vacuuming but nothing is happening. What the hell is wrong with my vacuum? There's a little light that's supposed to turn red when the bag is full, but it was still green, so what now? I yank the bag out anyways and the fullest vacuum bag ever in the whole entire world dumps all over the carpet. I guess that little light doesn't work, huh?
In case you're wondering where Jeffrey is through all of this, he's still sleeping, all snug and warm in our nice comfortable bed.
Baby is up already, the cat's room is trashed, the washing machine is trying to make a break for it again, and I'm covered in vacuum dust. I need baby wipes. I'm baby wiping myself and Mads has both hands down my shirt pinching and grabbing. Goodness didn't I just feed you?? Oh that's right, you spit it in my face! So I put her in the hotsling so I can clean, and feed her at the same time. I put a new bag in the vacuum cleaner and sweep up the damn cat's room. I'm obviously making quite a bit of noise because I hear, "Ugh! I'm sleeping! I didn't want to get up until nine!" It's already nine. "9:30 then!" (Grrr.) The cat's room is cleaned, litter box topped off with more litter, and babe is finished eating. I go back out to the kitchen to clean up her breakfast mess and the washer finally stops banging. I feel a sense of peace. Switch the clothes and then flop onto the floor to play with my baby. Playing, playing, dryer buzzer! Mads and I fold the clothes, all happy and singing, putting Jeffrey's work clothes in a separate pile so all he has to do is bend down and bam, he's ready for work. "I can't find any work clothes!!" (Shut up.) They're out here. "I don't like this shirt. I like the ones with green words better." (Double grr.) Jeffrey plays with Mads for three point five seconds before he has to leave for work.
Geez, this is getting really long and it's not even eleven yet in this story. I'll try to speed it up, but feel free to stop reading at any time.
Jeffrey leaves for work and baby is back on my hip. I throw my hair in a ponytail and try to apply some mascara (no one should leave the house without mascara), one handed of course, and head out to my parents house. Sundays are Grandparents days. I hand the baby over as soon as I get there and then raid their kitchen. I'm fucking starving. Chicken-spinach-alfredo-goodness-on-a-fork is less than two inches from my mouth when I hear, "I think someone needs something only Mommy can give her!" said in a sing-song voice with a smile. (Grr.) I try to feed Mads while eating, but the fork distracts her and she just cannot eat while I'm doing something so incredibly entertaining, like holding a fork. So my bowl of yummies taunts me from the dining room while I feed Mads in the living room. Done! My food's cold. Like always.
Nothing really awful happens for the next four hours, I take a nap, babe plays with Pappy and Grammy, and then Grammy changes her diaper. That diaper is what brings on the real madness for the day. I'll get to that.
It's been snowing since I got to my parents house, which wouldn't be a big deal if they didn't live on the top of a mountain in the middle of bum-fuck-Egypt. They don't plow the roads in bum-fuck, they don't care about the mountain folk. Mum wakes me up and basically tells me to 'get the fuck out' since the roads look bad, not in those words, but that was the general sentiment. "And make sure you call me as soon as you get home. Last time, you didn't call. I was worried. Make sure you call!" (Grrr.) Yes, Mum. I slip and slide the whole way down the mountain, almost in tears because it's the first time I've driven in crappy weather with my baby in the car, and forty-five minutes later, I'm home. I have baby in one hand, diaper bag, left over alfredo, and the mail in my other hand, and my phone is ringing. (Shut up!) I ignore the phone and drag myself up the stairs. Now Mads, she's been asleep for the whole car ride and even slept through the jostle up the stairs, she starts screaming her head off the second I put the carrier down. It's obviously an emergency. I yank her out of the car seat and she smiles. No emergency, just needed to be back on the hip. My phone is ringing again. "You forgot to call." (I did not forget to call, it's a forty-two minute drive in perfect weather and I still made it home in that time in the snow. GRRR.) Sorry, Mum. I just got home. I plop baby on the floor with some toys so I can take my boots off. She's happy there. Really? Can't be. Too good to be true. I take advantage of the silence and go to the bathroom for a nice pee. When I come back out, Mads is of course standing with one hand on the computer desk, and the other preparing to yank down Jeffrey's headset. I scoop her up, yank the cord out of her hand, and roll her up to blow some raspberries on her belly. Good Lord, what the fuck is that smell?? Poop. Poop everywhere. (My Mother cannot change a diaper. She always puts it on too loose because she wants the baby to be comfortable, which is a nice thought and all, but if you don't put the diaper on tight enough, it doesn't hold any poop.) There was poop the whole way up her back to her neck. There was poop on the back of her arms. There was poop on the floor, poop on my sweater, poop on my neck, POOP ON MY CHIN!! I rush her to her room and throw her down on the changing table. There's seriously poop everywhere. I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get her onesie off without getting poop on her face. I pop the snaps and ever so carefully pull her arms through the holes. Poop. Poop everywhere. I bunch the onesie up and pull it over her head. There's poop in her hair, poop all over the changing table drawer, poop on the wipes container, my hands are literally covered in it. And good heavens it smells. I yank the diaper off and surprise, there's hardly any poop in it at all. Mads' hands fly directly to her feet as they always do, and now they're covered in poop too because it's all over the back of her legs. I'm trying to stop her waving hands and she's covering my sweater and arms in little poop hand prints. I finally stop her flailing and pick her up to take her to the tub. I'm holding her as far away from myself as I possibly can, and she's giggling like a madman. And then she does the unthinkable. Apparently she was still a little tired after her car-ride induced slumber, and we all know what a tired baby does, right? She wipes her eyes, nose, and mouth with her shit covered little hand. Omigosh. Ew. There wasn't even anything I could do, I was covered in poop, too! I put her directly under the faucet and watched the yellow water run down the drain. I'm gagging. I can't stop thinking about the poop that is now dried on my chin. It was wet before, but now it's crusty and it makes my skin feel tight. Omigosh. Mads is almost the color of a baby by now, instead of that nasty poop color, but I was still completely covered up to my elbows, and I couldn't figure out how to hold her and clean myself off at the same time. I started to cry.
I used an entire cannister of Clorox wipes cleaning up Mads' room. Baby is fresh and clean, asleep in the big bed since eight. I've scrubbed my face three times, once with regular soap, once with actual face wash, and once with a Clorox wipe, but I can still smell poop. I think I got it up my nose somehow.
I have to work a double tomorrow. I've never been more excited about going to work as I am right now. Today totally sucked.