|Luke managing to have a platonic relationship with the Boppy.|
How did my morning end up that way? It was a typical morning, really. Though a typical morning for me is an atypical morning by anyone's standards. Three kids under five -- with one being just five weeks old -- tends to result in crazy. Apparently, this morning, Luke wanted to join in.
I suppose the best place to start for this story is the fact that the parenting gods have been playing tricks on me in terms of illness and weather. I'm fairly certain my kids have not had a full, five-day week of school since November thanks to multiple cases of strep throat, colds and pink eye.
(An aside - there were also a couple cases of lice at the kids' school in December, which had me wanting to hold them out indefinitely. I had my husband purchase many lice prevention items and considered bathing them in tea tree oil. You would have thought Ebola had broken out. I sucked it up and sent them to school with the resolve that I would have my daughter's hair in tight braids every day. It lasted a day and a half. All was well ... we did not end up with lice.)
The you've-got-to-be-kidding-me element is that when sickness ends, weather begins. My kids have been snot factories for the better part of two weeks, capping it off with bouts of pink eye. Finally cleared up, we were hit with a blizzard that has cancelled school the past two days.
Thank God for grandparents.
The baby woke up at eight this morning, ready to eat. I began to nurse her and she started contorting and making noises only evident in cases of needing-to-poop-itis. Her face was the color of a strawberry and her tummy was as hard as a bowling ball. I finished feeding her and took her into the bathroom to change her, knowing my changing her would result in successful elimination.
This was partially true. As I was putting her new diaper on, she exploded, jolting me because -- no matter how prepared I am for the loud noise -- I end up crying out and, in this case, knocking the scale against the wall.
I figured the worst was over. I carried her into the bedroom freshly diapered and prepared to head downstairs. That's when the real explosion took place. She began to projectile vomit all over the room. Fantastic.
I have to say that the ironic part about infants throwing up is that they look so serene afterward. Like, "Whew, that was awesome!" as I'm looking around at all the casualties, including my shirt.
First step was bathing the baby. Then I got her dressed, took her downstairs and put her in the swing while I attempted to disassemble her chair so I could wash the fabric. The way in which I washed it is probably illegal in 48 states and means it is no longer suitable for use, but we'll manage.
With the chair parts in the washer, I then cleaned the carpet while fending off my kids' requests for waffles, pancakes and TV shows.
It always blows me away how I could be in the middle of a conference call while painting a garage and my kids would ask me to hold something or get them milk.
Don't you see I'm a bit tied up?!
No. They don't.
It was wedged in between her and the side of the swing, clearly put there as a means of comfort by her sister. It seemed to have worked since she was snoozing.
The big kids were downstairs playing. I then looked to my left and saw Luke ... having way too much fun with the Boppy.
And it is in that moment that I have to laugh.
After all of this insanity, Luke has to cap it off with a love affair with a nursing pillow.
I can only hope that tomorrow will bring with it healthy kids, drivable roads and a sexually-satisfied cat.