(Warning: This story contains poop.)
Eves is suffering from what is commonly known in this household as "ouchie poops". I'll spare you from too much detail, but the ailment is accompanied by a raging diaper rash. So for the past two days or so, she has had twice as many dirty dipes than she usually has and she won't let me wipe her "ouchie bottom", which means the process of each diaper change includes me having to rinse her poopy butt off in the tub. (I warned you.)
Anyway. We have that going on. On top of that, as I keep repeating to anyone who will listen, I am really tired and really hungry, but everything smells bad and nothing sounds good to eat. The constant threat of poop isn't exactly helping.
Eves started wailing around 4 am or so this morning as though she were being chased through a feverish dream. I went in there to check her. She was so distraught and pitiful that I put her on my lap in the recliner and there we sat and sort of slept for 2 hours. By morning, she and I had ended up in the big bed and BKG ended up in the recliner. I have no clear recollection of how that exchange took place.
Despite the restless night, Eves was awake and ready to rock by 7:30. She spilled a cup of Cheerios and raisins all over the floor. BKG took a turn with her and I went back to bed for what must have been about an hour, but felt more like 5 minutes. I was still lying there when I heard BKG say his good-byes. So I dragged myself feebly into mothering mode.
Eves needed her diaper changed, of course. We got into a big tussle over the ouchie poop situation which sent us both into hysterics. I reached my limit and had to leave her on the changing pad on the floor, bawling and sprawled in a pitiful state. I went in the bedroom and buried my face in a pillow and cried hard for a good 3 minutes.
The rest of today has been a slow recovery from that low moment.
I told you. Not pretty.
* * * * *
Some days seem to demand apologies. Dear Evie, Sorry Mommy is such a crappy Mommy today. Dear BKG, Sorry I am such a crappy wife. Better luck next time. Dear Me, Sorry.... I don't know. Just sorry...
But what can you do. I wish SuperNanny and/or Mary Poppins would swoop in here and take care of me and everything else in this house for a solid 2 weeks. But I am the mom here -- so Mary Poppins = me. That's MY job. Now where the hell are my flying umbrella and magic carpet bag.