Yes, I’m making reference to the 90’s one hit wonder Whoomp There it Is. Great, now it’s gonna be stuck in my head all day today.
My husband left with my four oldest to the local library here on post. It’s become their Saturday ritual – my oldest meets her friend there, the other three peruse the library with dad while dad scopes out some new books for him to chew up and spit out.
Seriously, the man gobbles up books like Tom Hanks ate seafood in Castaway.
As they left, I put my toddler down for a nap, almost immediately. With my newborn already asleep, I did a silent dance to myself, all-the-while screaming in my head “FREEEEEEDOMMMM!!!” as I made a mad dash to the kitchen to eat something (first time today) and begin preparations to make Pumpkin Bread.
I didn’t get very far. I greased the 3 loaf pans. The baby squealed. Mom time has officially ended after 2.3 minutes (roundabout time.. it’s not like I had a stopwatch or anything..)
I picked him up, and did the veritable cornucopia of random baby-rocking motions- burping, dancing, bopping, swaying – all do not help him. So I nurse him. After a couple seconds he starts to cry, as it isn’t hunger, it is indeed gas. Again with the bopping, dancing, swaying. He finally belches, falls immediately asleep. And by immediately, I really mean, 15 minutes later.
As I put him into the vibrating bouncy chair aka Best Invention Ever, my toddler stumbles into the kitchen, wobbling drunk-ily, calling for me. I pick her up, put her on my shoulder, and begin swaying with her. I sit at my computer to begin this post. She wants down and decides to sprawl out at my feet, right here at my computer. Strange, but okay, as she is like an octopus in bed, flailing about, arms and feet all over the place, so perhaps I was crowding her or something. So at the very second I decide to leave her there to rest, I hear squeaky, beckoning me from the kitchen.
(Are you beginning to understand the title of this post now?)
I pick him up, only to discover he’s soaked through his outfit. Only, when I put him on the changing table, I discover it isn’t pee.
Ahh, thank you for my present, little man.
Apparently, she doesn’t want to be left alone. Or she really likes our floors. Not quite sure which.
It’s at this point my husband and older children come home, to see her sprawled out in the laundry room, wondering what sort of party mom threw while they were away.
Oh, I can’t leave you all out of the present giving. (And no, it isn’t a poopie diaper.. we should all be so lucky…)
Here’s my present for you all – my nudeykins 🙂
And yes, it’s a disposable for my poor baby’s rash on his bottom 🙁
My nudeykins who, I just discovered, just gave me yet another ‘present’…
C’mon, sing with me – “Poop, there it is!”
