Good god today is kicking my ass.
On the way home from a work event last night my husband let me know our older daughter started puking. I was up every hour rubbing her back. She was almost taking shifts with the little one who would start crying from her crib in between also demanding attention.
The entire thing made for a less than stellar morning. Keeping a little sister away from a big sister is an exercise in futility, especially when that little sister is strong-willed far beyond her year and a half of life.
She’s on her third outfit by choice as she rummages through the diaper bag like a baby Beyoncé and I’m still in the clothes I slept in and braless.
She’s had goldfish, cookies, pasta and a cupcake and I had a bag of salad while standing up.
She stood behind me trying to push me out of my own office chair as I pleaded with Macy’s Furniture to help process my order for new dining room chairs because our current ones are literally dropping like flies.
She’s insistent on wearing shoes even though we have not left the house but can’t decide which pair and falls into a heaping mess on the living room floor when I try to take them off. This is “baby code” for I need a fuc*ing nap.
Great idea because mama needs one too. Only she won’t nap in her crib even though she sleeps in it every night, only in our bed (one of a thousand mistakes we’ve made as parents and certainly not the last).
She procrastinated like a champ, pulling out all the stops – kisses, mamas, peekaboo and good old-fashioned kicks to the gut, before she finally went down leaving me a sliver of my own bed.
All day I’ve been wiping snot, cleaning vomit, doing laundry, but have yet to wash my own face.
A week ago I was at The Diplomat Beach Resort without my family enjoying a weekend all about self-care. Taking a break to recharge, because moms need it. A manicure, a massage, a solo trip to the grocery store, whatever. Almost as if I was training for a weekend like this. We need timeouts too and do not let anyone tell you otherwise or make you feel guilty for taking them. They are directly correlated to your parental patience and sanity.
I don’t know when I actually fell asleep or for how long. I awoke to the baby screaming for her pacifier, immediately followed by my husband telling me that he got our older one fries 🍟 (her usual tell when she’s past the puking) and me a McDonald’s Diet Coke – my drug of choice.
It’s been a disaster my friends, but chivalry is most certainly not dead. It helps tend to pukey kids so you can sleep in the middle of the day and rewards you with the diet soda you love that is also horrible for you. God bless America.