Kendall’s been sick this week. Not the kind of sick where he lays in a bed and sleeps all day, though. Just the kind of sick where I’m forced to keep him home from school, while he continues with life at the same pace he always has. So we’ve run a lot of errands together while Leyna is at school.
It’s actually not so bad because there’s just one of him. Just one carseat to deal with, just one kid to watch during bathroom trips, just one to keep from running in an opposite direction.
Man, one kid was EASY! I wonder how long it will take for me to feel the same about 2 after the 3rd baby comes…
Because food and I have a really tempestuous relationship right now, and Pinterest isn’t being very sensitive about all that.
I mean, I just saw a picture of RAW HAMBURGER MEAT next to a picture of a BLOODY NOSE. I will cut you, Pinterest.
Right after I puke on you.
Even the sight of cooked chicken sets me over the edge sometimes, and if I have to look at one more photoshoped “thinspiration” picture of a girl and all her freaking ribs showing, I’m going to roundhouse kick a unicorn.
You make me pukey AND ragey, Pinterest. This isn’t healthy. This can’t go on.
That was Scott’s question to me earlier as he cleaned out Leyna’s little potty after she successfully filled it to the brim.
“Uh… go to an island without them?” I replied wistfully.
It’s been that kind of day. I laid on the couch most of it, convinced I was dying from some awful plague only after ruling out every possibility that I could be pregnant. I’ve been nauseous off and on for the last few days, but never to the point of puking.
Because I fight puking with all of my being. Every last ounce of energy is used to NOT EVER PUKE.
I started to feel better this evening and suggested we go out to dinner since I didn’t feel like cooking and the kids were anxious to get out.
Little did I know that Kendall was actually serious when he told me his tummy hurt right before we left and wasn’t just playing me for bottomless soda.
“Mommy, my tummy hurts. I don’t want to eat anything. I just want to drink soda. 10 sodas.” << THAT’S WHAT HE SAID. So obviously I thought he was just being… smart.
Until he ran to the bathroom as soon as we placed our order at the restaurant, and then puked all over it.
And then all over his bed at home.
Twice.
I’m glad he obviously hasn’t inherited my puke-phobia. Sorta.
The good news is I’m most definitely not pregnant because that’s not contagious. (And because, seriously, it would be impossible… but the contagion factor really sealed it for me… beyond the negative pregnancy test I took this morning. I have issues. I know.)
To entice him to stay in bed and “rest” (a.k.a. stay in the room that is already contaminated), I let him watch the Disney Jr. app on the iPad only after I stuck that bad boy in a Ziploc bag.
Feel free to pin that shit. “How to protect your iPad from your puking child,” or “DIY puke guard for the iPad.” I’m so clever.
And tired. Good night.
You may have seen these on Facebook already. I’ve already uploaded them to my Facebook Page. (Do you like me over there yet? You should! Your mother will not mind at all if you do!) But I thought I’d go ahead and put them up here, too.
Now, please excuse me while I go take another nap. Last night consisted of EIGHT small naps for me, meaning Leyna woke SEVEN TIMES. Not enough coffee in the world, friends.
I was feeling a little proud of ourselves this week. Leyna started pooping on the little potty. Not really asking to do so, but doing it quite happily when we placed her on there.
Yay! My brilliant little cherub is on her way to potty training! There was a light at the end of the tunnel of diapers and wiping butts, at least for this round.
Let me just say that the two most freeing developments in my life since getting my drivers license have been Kendall (my 4 year old) learning to buckle himself safely into his carseat, and finally grasping how to properly wipe his own butt, leaving behind minimal skid marks.
Nothing like a good ol’ fashioned blowout to knock that smug look off my face.
Leyna wears disposable diapers to Mothers Day Out 2 days a week. It’s a battle I’m not going to fight. I tried to get them to do cloth diapers with Kendall, but they wound up throwing away a bumGenius, and it’s now an official “rule” that they only do disposables. It’s only 10 hours a week. I just don’t have it in me to try to change it. The problem for us with disposable diapers, though, is they blowout like crazy (meaning, they violently expel poop like they need an exorcism).
On Wednesday, right after we got home from school, instead of catching her right before she needed to poop like I have been so proud of myself for doing the days before, she silently let her butt explode all over the living room.
I was reminded what this phase in toddlerhood is really all about. It’s not all celebrations and jelly beans for pooping on the potty. It’s mostly human feces and urine smeared all over my house. Potty training is soul-sucking work. It nearly drove me to a breakdown last time around. I almost snapped when I slipped on a puddle of Kendall’s pee on the tile kitchen floor and sliced my foot open on the bottom of the table.
2 years later, we have a geriatric, diabetic dog to add to the mix. My days are filled with cleaning up poop and pee. And yeah, now I have to wonder which species living in this house created it.
MOTHERHOOD IS SO GLAMOROUS.
Just because I look like a slob at 4:30 p.m. doesn’t mean I haven’t spent the day getting shit done. (And chasing kids, and feeding them, and making sure THEY get dressed and brush their teeth).
Leyna is 17 months old and this also applies to oranges, tortillas, cheese sticks, and all other inanimate, food objects in our house.
And with that, I’m off to do another 30 Day Shred workout. Jillian’s going to tell that “eye” what’s up!
Not that I’d ACTUALLY harm any goats… just that it makes me WANT to. My nearly 4 year old NEVER. STOPS. EATING.
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