Thursday, September 27, 2012

If I take another deep breath, I'm going to hyperventilate

When it rains it pours.

And sometimes it pours to the point that the flood zone seems comical in a hysterical, losing my mind kind of way.

That would be a fairly dramatic and potentially accurate way to describe Monday.

There was no poop in anyone's armpits (thank you, thank you, thank you) but there were, of course, many bodily fluids spilled in form of throw-up, pee, and tears.  Oh the tears.

Carter started the morning with an early wake-up that left him crying for oatmeal, Cheerios and grapes, simultaneously.  He wanted none of them, all of them, and please, for the love of all things good, let him stay in his dirty diaper!  He glared at me, ran from me, and pouted, demanding I let him sit in his filth.  He threw things and looked at me, waiting for my reaction.  He yelled to hear his own voice, pulled the blinds, jumped on the couch, and kicked toys.  Discipline, correction, choices...we were pulling them all out.

It as 7 am.

I can't have caffeine...I just think that's an important element to the story.

Finally, everyone was fed, dressed, and packed into the car for a walk in the park with our friends.  It was the last blissful hour of the day.  All the babies were happy for one dear moment...until Carter realized we weren't finishing with the playground like annoyed toddler and sleepy baby who woke up in the transition from stroller to car seat due to annoyed toddlers rants.

It's 9:20.

We jet to the pediatrician's office for Samuel's 4 month well-check.  I undress Samuel and wrap him in a snuggly blanket.  I get out a snack for Carter and we all cuddle close to read a book while we wait.  It would have made a stunning Wordless Wednesday.  Then the nurse came in to start checking Samuel and weighing, measuring, patting, etc.  She also brought with her a crazy pill that she stuffed down Carter's throat while I wasn't looking that transformed him into a tiny monster that acted like a two-year old.

Or something like that.

With my attention on Samuel and the nurse, Carter abandoned all the snacks I prepared, the books I packed, and the toys I set out.  He tried to crawl on the examining table to "kiss baby", spilled his grapes and Cheerios on the floor, and then slowly walked around the room, carefully crunching the fruit and cereal beneath his shoe with delight.  I am simultaneously trying to hold Samuel, give the nurse the details she needs, and considering how to tether Carter to the wall to maintain the room's basic construction.  I am calculating, creating, considering options for the rest of the visit to help Carter obey.

While we waited for the doctor, I talked to Carter about obeying.  He was all "OBEY Mama!" "Oh no, no throw!" and "I'mah help Mama!" while he laid on his stomach on the bench, kissing his brother's feet and laughing at the hilarity of that.

Then the doctor came in and the two-year old tornado blew right back into town.  At one point, Dr. Greene was hunched over my phone while I tried to explain to her how to get the video I had made of Samuel's weird breathing to play, I was nursing Samuel while he screamed because the ear check had made him super angry and Carter had thrown the last paci to the floor, and Carter was pulling off the paper from the exam table along with Samuel's clothes.  Samuel promptly threw up down my shirt as Carter shrieked for no apparent reason and Dr. Greene huddled over the phone, trying to hear the slight noises I had described.  Suddenly, I realized that my rear was getting cold and discover that Carter's water bottle has been slowly leaking in my seat.  As I put Samuel up on my shoulder to burp, I feel his spit-up travel down my shoulder onto my back.  Samuel almost never spits up.  He was saving that for this important occasion, I am sure.  As I contemplate asking for a place to shower, Carter opens the room door (hello, he can reach of this visit) and tries to escape.

When they were finally done with us, a fact everyone in the whole office, and maybe even this hemisphere, was grateful for, they sent us off to check-out and make new appointments for next time (which I am sure they prayed we won't keep).  I cleaned the exam room the best I could and loaded Samuel into the Ergo. I talked to Carter for a minute or two about what we needed to do to make it to the car and off we went.  He dangled from my arm, alternating between trying to lie down on the waiting room floor and escaping to Africa at the speed of light.  For some unknown reason, the nice appointment lady offered Carter a sticker which he promptly placed in his hair.

Wait for it.

 Yes, there it is.  The screaming as the sticker not only pulls his hair, but is not available for play because it is stuck to the side of his head.  We exited in a flurry of glory.

We got to the car and I strapped Carter to his car seat, questioning why I hadn't brought the whole thing  into the office to keep him tied to one location as I climbed into the backseat to feed a still angry and tired Samuel. Once he was fed, changed, and reloaded into the car, I unpacked Carter from his seat to change his diaper, discovering that he had overflowed it in the office with all the water he hand consumed with the plethora of snacks.  One change of clothes and a new diaper later, we were on our way home.

I fed Carter lunch and got Samuel down for nap.  I brushed Carter's teeth, read stories, watched one Elmo and asked Carter to lie down.  As soon as I closed his door, Samuel started shrieking and I realized he had thrown up in his crib.  Change the sheets, comfort the baby, change clothes.  By the time that was done, Carter was reappearing considering himself properly napped and, of course, highly ill because he was not rested at all.  In all the fuss, Samuel woke up again with spit-up all over him.  I decided my littlest smelled more like throw up than anything else, so I prepped the tub.  Carter insisted he also needed a bath, so off we went.  As I pulled a sweet smelling but still tired Samuel from the tub, I see cups and bath toys filled with water sailing across the bathroom.

My phone sounds.  Steven isn't going to make it home in time to watch the boys for my eye appointment.  I get to talk to the super precious receptionist to cancel for today and reschedule.  She apparently had whatever pill that nurse gave Carter and was having a rather two-year old moment herself.  It was beautiful.  (PS: This got even better when I was FIVE minutes late to the appointment the next day...and they had canceled me.  Because I was late.  FIVE minutes late.  I have never waited there less than 30 minutes.  Sanctificationnnnnnnnnnn.)

Samuel goes to sleep again...and I hold Carter.  We watch Elmo together because I need to breath and hold him and for him to not get in trouble.  He needs the same thing.

Finally.  Steven arrives home.  We had plans to go to Chick-fil-A to meet Elmo for supper.  Samuel wakes but after some rocking is finally sleeping in my arms, so we make the decision to bail and I get to rock Samuel for the longest stretch since his birth.

Big.  Deep.  Breaths.

Most days, I am stunned at how well things seem to go.  I know I have to allow tons of time for everything, the house is never, ever clean, and there is generally a low hum of activity at all times...but it's not chaos like I thought it might be.

However.  There are days like this one.  I want to remember all the fun days that we spend in the warmth of the sun in the park, the happy times we share with friends on play-dates, and the sweet memories of snuggling before bed, reading books.

I also want to remember those days.  The days were babies outnumbered and overcame me.  The dyas where I wore more food at varying stages of digestion than I ate, and the days I smelled like the non-Johnson and Johnson version of baby all day long.  The days where I took so many deep breaths, I almost hyperventilated.

These are good days too.  Mostly because they make for good stories.  And?  When someone else tells a story about their crazy day, I can mentally one-up them...every time.  I can use examples from this particular day...or the one in which I cleaned up poop from Carter's armpits...or the day Carter sneezed spit-up in my face...or the time I had a baby who didn't sleep through the night for two years and then screamed so loud on a camping trip we had to leave in the middle of the night.  

Jk, jk. I don't one-up your misfortune with my own.



1 comment:

  1. Oh my gosh - I wanted to cry reading this. (Partly because I was laughing, mostly because I felt so bad for you.) How in the heck did you make it out of there alive? Props, TL.