Yesterday morning, I was awoken to the pitter patter of little feet.
“Go back to bed, W~” I called down the hallway.
“But, Mommy, I pooped and it is on my foot and on the floor, and the toilet won’t flush.” Oh, crap–literally.
Thankfully, the toilet wasn’t really broken, and only a bit of the diarrhea was on the aforementioned floor and foot. Still, the last remnants of the stomach bug he fought over the weekend weren’t exactly how I had planned to start my day.
I cleaned him up, gave all of the kids dry cereal to eat on my bed while watching TV (aren’t I the model of motherhood?), and closed the bedroom door so I could shower in the master bathroom, able to hear what they were doing and know that they weren’t wondering through the house wreaking havoc.
I had an OB appointment in the morning. I gained six pounds (’tis the season), which puts me up to 161. Yuck. That means I can’t gain more than nine pounds over the next 10 weeks unless I want to go higher than my previous pregnancies, which I don’t.
Various issues and runnings-about throughout the day stopped me from ever cleaning–a common problem these past couple of weeks. I feel like I’m living in a hovel. Sean called to ask if I minded if he took a rare “guys night out” to play Risk at a business contact’s house that evening. Despite how overwhelmed I am, I agree since he almost never asks to do something like that.
I decided last night not to run to the store, with the kids, in the freezing muck, shortly before bedtime, by myself, because I just don’t have the energy–emotionally or physically, to deal with it. After all, everyone will be more agreeable in the morning.
Three o’clock this morning, C~ wakes up and starts vomiting. I get up to clean the mess while Sean takes C~ into the bathroom and tends to him. I get C~ a small amount of Dt. Mountain Dew (the only fizzy substance in the house) to sip. The commotion has woken N~ up, and he comes out asking for his own glass of soda, claiming that he is also sick. Despite suspecting that this is more of a “convenient” illness, I pour him a small glass–after all, there’s nothing wrong with caffeinating a hyper-active four-year-old in the middle of the night, right? I end up being glad for my decision, since it spares him the effort of pulling his head out of the toilet three minutes later to say, “See, Mom, I told you I was sick.” Yep, a double header. Lucky me.
I tell Sean that I will skip my 7:30 am networking meeting, but he is going to need to run to the store before work to buy me the things that I didn’t pick up last night. And everyone goes back to sleep.
Sean did go to the store for me this morning so that I wouldn’t have to go through the day without milk. He brought all of the groceries in, then hurriedly started giving everyone hugs and kisses so he could leave. I heard a thud. Then, a strange gurgling noise. By the time I reached the kitchen, the majority of my fresh gallon of milk was spreading all over the floor.
To Whom it May Interest:
You are cordially invited to a complete mental breakdown. But only as a participant. No idle spectators, please.