Saturday, August 23, 2008

Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives

3:30 a.m.: Get home from work after an exhaustingly long night.

3:31: Brush teeth, collapse directly into bed. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

4:40: Wake up to cries in the next room, nurse Allison and shuffle blindly back to bed realizing my breasts were so engorged that I leaked milk all over myself.

5:17: Change shirt.

5:18: Push Toby off my pillow so I can get into bed.

8:10: Wake up to cries in the next room. Run into a wall in an attempt at walking with my eyes closed.

8:11: Allison is smiling wildly. Fall in love. Suddenly summon super-human strength to deal with the day.

8:12: Open blinds, sing the good morning song, make some faces in hopes of eliciting a laugh.

8:13: Pick Allison up. Realize my arm suddenly feels a little wet. Lay her on the changing table to discover her formerly white sleeper has taken on brownish-green hues around the crotch area. The smell makes me want to vomit.

8:14: Unzip sleeper to discover that gooey, chunk-riddled poop leaked out of her diaper and forced its way down to her right ankle and up her back probably because Jerry wasn't able to tighten it well enough with his cast.

8:15: Dry heave, concentrate on not regurgitating last night's ham sandwich.

8:16: Peel sleeper from her body. Attempt to keep her poop-covered legs from flailing and touching everything. End up with a fistful in the process. Transfer sleeper to top of adjacent dresser, spreading the mess. Open diaper to reveal my worst nightmare. Transfer diaper to top of other dresser, realize I'll need a pressure sprayer to get her clean.

8:18: Begin pulling wipes from the box, mentally taking note of how many I'm using just so I can tell Jerry later when he's home from work. Give up somewhere around seven, realize the wipes just aren't cutting it, pick her up, hold her at arm's length and carry her to the bathroom, kicking and screaming wildly with joy.

8:20: Place her in bathtub. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

8:22: Fill tub. Immediately drain tub because of floaters that are mildly reminiscent of split-pea soup. Make mental note never to eat split-pea soup ever again no matter how much I like it.

8:25: Sponge her off with a washcloth because poop somehow made it up to her earlobes. Realize I didn't grab a towel. Pull her out of tub, place her directly onto lap. Decide that although it sucks being dripping wet, it's better than the milk from the night before.

8:26: New diaper. New outfit. Try to breathe through nose to avoid overwhelmingly wretched scent permeating her room.

8: 30: Place her on the floor. Carry sleeper at arm's length and deposit it in remaining bath water. More pea soup. Extra chunky. With ham.

8:32: Rinse. Repeat.

8:34: Rinse. Repeat.

8:36: Rinse. Repeat.

8:37: Discard sopping diaper into Diaper Gene, smear remnants all over side of bag, feel it becoming embedded in my fingernails. Allison comes over to join the party, only have one good hand to hold her at bay.

8:40: Wash hands. Disinfect both rooms. Want to die.

8:55: Collapse onto floor in front of a grinning, happy baby. Tell her I don't know why she's smiling after being coated head-to-toe with her own feces.

8:56: Wonder what my Mother's Day present will be next year.


fiona said...

Hmm...makes for an interesting morning. =)
And...I'm sure someone's already told you this, but: at her age, Alli should be sleeping through the night. There ARE exceptions (such as teething, colds, etc.), but MOST babies without tummy/health issues should be sleeping straight through the night.
And it's easier to get there than you might think.
Just a little food for thought.

Karen said...

Oh! The memories!

And btw - while I was lucky with mine sleeping through the night, my sister-not so much. My one nephew didn't sleep through until it seemed like he was 2.

Wendy said...


Anonymous said...

Teach her to love shower hoses, then "tickle" her clean with the spray attachment before filling the tub for a bath.

Anonymous said...

What? No pictures?!

Ray said...

"Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives....And we do it all for LOVE!"

The things you go through when you become a parent. Can't believe you only get about four hours of sleep! About four hours of sleep to then: work, take care of your kid and maintain the house. You truly are a "SUPER MAMA" Kelly! =)

Take, care.

Kristin said...

what a fabulous morning =P


Melissa said...

Wow, what a morning!! You are officially my hero.

(Sorry, this fiona chick is such a know-it-all. Sorry but her comment irked me.)

kimiedawn said...

Motherhood can sometimes be very cruel! I'm pregnant again and wow, you forget all that stuff, thanks for reminding me! Speaking of Jerry's cast--My son broke his wrist a couple weeks ago, the first day of vacation. I am so thankful though, he has a waterproof cast on. He can swim, bathe, do anything with it in the water. They even encourage it getting wet. I'm really surprised they didn't give Jerry a waterproof one. It makes things soooo much easier. Hang in there.

Chelsea said...

Sounds just like my life last month when my dog had an allergic reaction to his food, except he wasn't cute about the manner.

I don't know how you can blow dry your hair so perfectly! I gave up! I did a post about it today!

the plainsman said...

so glad I did not have pea soup at dinner...LOL

jsi said...

There is no present special enough to encompass that kind of a cruel "Reality Check" kind of morning. UGH! What a surprise - bet she felt so much better when you were done!

I have, without apology, found myself outside in the backyard, in my pajamas hosing off an exploded diaper victim like that just because there was too much #2 to consider for the tub.

I am now totally grossed out - blech. Sorry your morning started out with such a mess.

You can call me Al said...

decision confirmed. cannot handle having children.

mercurial scribe said...

Seriously, have you installed a hidden camera in our house? Seriously?!

Good to know I'm not the only one with these mornings.