This is my first time blogging and as I am a blogging virgin, you can pop my cherry. (Sorry, not the real one...that was popped a long, long, time ago). I've joined BlogHer because I feel I really need an outlet. I am sure my family and friends get tired of my child like rants and no (non?) mannered way of putting things.
Anywhoooo, if you don't know me, I am Brandy. B to my friends and family. I am 27 years young, I have a 14 month old daughter, Lily, and a wonderful husband, Chad. ---There were alot of commas in that sentence, apologies---.
Chad and I work opposite shifts, I work from 8am to 5pm and he works from 2pm to 11pm. So, pretty much we don't see eachother unless its a weekend or one of us is on our deathbed at home.
Well, that's precisely what happened last night. Chad was on his deathbed. (But aren't ALL men when they're sick?). So, he headed home around 3:30pm. After my day of work, I drove all the way across town to get the baybay. As usual, she was so excited to see me that she quickly shuffled (she doesn't know she can run) across the room to her Momma! Best feeling in the world.
Quick change of subject. Have you ever seen Finding Nemo? You know that scene in the movie that the feeeesheees find the mask and there's a pretty light hanging over it? Then the light moves and it turns out it is a giant, masked, creature of death? Nemo's dad said "Good Feeling, Gone!"
This is how it relates to my story. Lily and I get home from "school". Daddy, Chad, is laying half on, half off, of the couch. Moaning. And Groaning. Surely dying. He thinks he has pneumonia. Lily and I leave him alone. Ha! I guess I thought it would go that way. Lily tortured her Daddy, I mean, legit tortured him. She was screaming. And running. And hitting. And kissing. But, Chad went along with it, like the wonderful husband and daddy that he is. Every now and then he would reach his hand out and pet her head as if to say "Love you Lil, but Daddy is dying". Momma's after school "Good feeling, Gone". My hubby is sick, my baby is super hyper, and I am stuck with both of them after an eight hour day with a boss I despise.
After I feed the hungry, hungry hippo, I go to the kitchen to wash the dishes in the sink (probably because our dish washer has been full for a week--mommy problems). I realize that I haven't changed Lily's butt since we have been home (middle finger to your judgement). I take her to her room, put her on the changing table. She was fighting me so, I let her down for some "nakey butt" time. She waddles along behind me to the kitchen. I rush in the kitchen to lock her behind the baby gate. (Our kitchen is a "No No room"). I'm happily chatting with her and doing dishes when the grunts started. I look over, wide eyed, and see her squating! "Lily, please don't poop!", I yell. Too late. The dirty deed is done. Dirt cheap (I had to).
I get the wood floor cleaner and some paper towels. I am a germ freak and I am a gagger. I am literally fighting back the urge to puke on her pile of poo. I scoop it up and I spray the spot. Lily has run away in fear, but not without leaving a trail of urine. I throw a heaping wad of paper towels on the floor and drag them with my foot. Spray. Wipe. Spray. Wipe. Clean. I go back to washing dishes because that had to be all of the bodily funtions she could do, right? Answer: NOPE, you wish. She squats and poops again! This time she decides she is going to STEP in it! Ya that's right, those adorable toes that I nibble on, planted right in her poo. Gag reflex engaged.
Me: "Chad!! Are you not going to help?!"
Chad: Cough, snore, snort.
Me: "By God Chad!! I know you hear me!"
Chad: Cough, cough, gurgle, snore.
Really? I'm in a big enough panic to scare a killer shark and he doesn't move? Men. I swear. I'll remember this, hold me to it.
By the time I'm done cleaning the second pile of poop, Lily has helped herself to the cabinet of cleaning supplies. Moral of the story, doctors can kiss their "naked butt time" goodbye in the VanMeter household.
All for now, Bloggees!
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