Let me paint you a picture of my life right now. I’ll hit you up with all five senses.
You can’t see the bottom of our closet through the massive mound of dirty clothes (and honestly, some of them aren’t dirty, but they’ve gone so long without getting put away that we just tossed them back in the pile), Kendall’s laundry is piled in the hall next to the laundry room, waiting for it’s turn after the pee-soaked towels are done in the wash. There are dishes stacked in the sink, my kitchen floor has visible foot prints. I am suddenly disgusted by the amount of dog drool stuck to the walls and the baseboards should be burned.
It sounds like screaming, and whining, and Diego, and a washing machine running, and a white noise machine on the in the background that I always forget to turn off after I get my terrorist toddler out of bed in the morning. It sounds like “Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, UH OH!” and like “It’s NOT an uh oh if you do it on PURPOSE”. It sounds like a giant dog pissing on my carpet AGAIN.
It feels like a grimy table that’s next to impossible to get all the stuck on granola cereal cleaned off of. It feels like sticky tile floors. It feels like stepping in a wet puddle of pee and wondering if it’s from the boy or the dog.
It tastes like coffee, a lot of it… and then later it tastes like wine. It tastes like omelets for lunch AGAIN because I know he’ll eat eggs. It tastes like chips, secretly consumed when the kid’s not looking.
It smells like pee. It’s inescapable. It also smells like I need to vacuum AGAIN. It smells like vinegar and water cleaning solution. It smells like baking soda where I’ve tried to soak up the pee. It still smells mostly like pee.
Today I’m not holding it all together very well. Today I’m frustrated and annoyed and overcome with guilt. Today I want nothing more than a break from my son. I want the whining and the screaming and the tantrums and the turning to jelly so that I can’t possibly gracefully pick him up from the floor of the bounce house and take him home to stop. I want it to be someone else’s problem for just a little bit. I want to come home to a house that is clean and will FUCKING STAY THAT WAY. Counter to what you may think of my housekeeping skills based on the description above, I do actually clean. A. LOT. I want my dog, my nearly 7 year old dog who has had diabetes since he was 5 months old, requiring 2 shots of insulin a day, to get his damn blood sugar under control and to stop PEEING IN MY HOUSE. I want to leave this place and go on a vacation.
Today I’m guilty. I’m drowning in guilt. It’s washing over me and beating me against a rock wall. I don’t know what’s wrong with my nearly 2 year old kid. It could be that he’s nearly 2, or it could be that he’s not feeling well. I thought about making an appointment at the pediatrician, but I really have nothing to base it off of (no fever, no runny nose, no cough, no rash) other than him seeming completely and utterly bipolar for the last week. I want to have more patience with him. I envision myself being more loving, more kind, less frustrated. I hate that I get frustrated. I HATE THAT I WANT A BREAK.
I feel guilty for not caring more about my sweet, loving English Mastiff Bruno. I mean, I do care, but it’s hard to remind myself that he can’t help peeing all over the place when his blood sugar is at 400 for the 3rd day in a row. We left the dogs over the weekend with a dog sitter checking in on them twice a day. With his blood sugar being so high, he couldn’t make it the 12 hours between visits to potty outside. We came home to a house that smells like a kennel. The dog sitter did a great job cleaning it up, but this place isn’t going to be the same until we clean the carpets. I hate that I’m so irritated by this.
It took nearly an hour and a half to finally get out of the house this morning and head to the gym. You know, the gym that watches my kid for 2 hours? Yeah, Kendall doesn’t like the child care center. He’s been three times now and each time he sits by the door cries or whimpers the entire time we’re working out. (It doesn’t help that the last time I came to pick him up I found him playing with a file drawer and grabbing a stapler. The staff, at least the times we’ve been so far, seem apathetic and it’s starting to piss me off.) He started screaming the minute we pulled into the packed parking lot, just moments after I realized I forgot my headphones. Enough. It was enough to just say eff it. I got a coffee at a nearby drive through and headed to the bounce house. It was, of course, storming and pouring the whole time. Once there, 5 minutes of happy followed by incessant request for “nacks”, followed by inevitable meltdown.
Finally home, I fed the kid, what else, some form of eggs with cheese and veggies. While getting him ready for his nap, I made the strangest, most mind boggling discovery. I took his shoe off and noticed his sock was wet. The other one was, too, but just a tiny bit. Hmm… I thought it was probably the rain, although I figured it was weird that he didn’t seem to get wet anywhere else while we were out. I smelled the sock (like a reflex, I now smell all fluids since becoming a parent). It was soaked in PISS. The diaper? Dry. The shorts? Dry. The right shoe? Most definitely smelled like piss, too.
My dog peed on my kid.
::hands thrown in the air::
I’m done. I need a vacation. I need to go somewhere far, far away from diapers and dog piss. I want to go somewhere where the only fluid I’m smelling is wine.
Yesterday I planned to blog all about my many ideas for a vacation and ask for your opinions. Unfortunately, I just spent all my blogging time breaking down over pee.
I’ll try to get it together for the vacation post tomorrow.
Kendall is 22 months old, and I love him, I really, really, really do. More than anything. And I’m so grateful that he’s healthy and that he’s so amazing. And I hate that I want I break, that I even think about wanting a break. I hate it.