Fridays are normally our Flapjacks and Fun days. But today, not so much. To start, the kids didn't want pancakes, they only wanted bananas. Ok, that's fine. They ate their bananas. Five minutes later they're back and asking for a nectarine and a kiwi. Ok, fruit is great, no problem. At least there was no problem until the kiwi went in the trash half eaten and the culprit proclaimed he was full. Five minutes later that culprit was back and asking for a snack. Negative, my dear kiwi waster. The nectarine eater asked to finish the baby's oatmeal since she was done. Well, that was supposed to be my breakfast, but whatever. Said nectarine eater sits down takes two bites then proceeds to drop the spoon, leaves it on the floor and runs off to play. *sigh*
As my baby sits in her highchair I hear grunting and turn to see the look that every parent dreads. The one that says "I just made a mudslide in my diaper and there might possibly be clothing casualties". So I check and sure enough we have a poopsplosion. Yeah, it's gross. Just be glad you're only reading about it and not having to clean it. Now, changing a dirty diaper is never pleasant but when your baby enters the 'there's no way I'm laying still for this' phase, it becomes quite the challenge. Imagine trying to clean and diaper an octopus who has just downed a case of Red Bull. That comes close to what it's like to change a wiggly baby. But I got it done because I'm a Mom, it's what we do.I put my freshly cleaned and diapered baby in her exersaucer and go about my day. Or try to.
I try to clean up and in the process of sweeping the floor I manage to bust my own lip with the broom handle. Don't ask me how, I don't know how. Maybe the broom hates me and was just waiting for a chance to strike back at me for making it sweep up countless kiddy messes. Or maybe I was just clumsy. Either way, I now resemble the victim of a botched lip plumping procedure. My lips are looking sexy right now, let me tell ya.
My cleaning is interrupted by a crying baby who lets me know that 5 minutes is long enough for her. So, I pluck her from the apparently boring exersaucer and plop her on my hip. Then I try to vacuum. Except, the boys won't move their toys so it becomes vacuuming while bulldozing Ironman, Potato Head and their fleet of Hot Wheels to the edges of the room. That's easier said than done though because my baby decides the vacuum is a pretty interesting gadget and insists on repeatedly tipping herself forward in an attempt to grab it. But I manage to juggle the lunging baby and leave Ironman and Potato Head with their parts intact. Good thing because I think a few of those Hot Wheels need to be put up on blocks now.
So, the boys go in time out for refusing to pick up their toys and I sit down to nurse the baby to sleep. But, this being one of those days, the boys decide not only are they not going to stay in time out, they're going to establish their own fight club/gymnastics arena/let's see who can be the loudest contest in my living room. And they startle the just about to close her eyes baby. Grr! It was only noon and I was ready to surrender and wishing for bed time. But I'm happy to say that after I laid down the law, and possibly threatened to make them watch a Barney marathon and eat brussel sprouts if they didn't behave, the boys sat down and miracle of miracles, fell asleep. And the baby is napping peacefully. And I'm typing this with one hand as the other arm is lodged under that sleeping baby. I might regain feeling in it by the time she starts first grade. But even as my still empty tummy rumbles and my head and lip throb out an aching duet and I dream lovingly of my comfy bed, I smile, sigh, and enjoy the quiet while it.... and the baby wakes up.