The best part of my weekend so far has been lying down on my bed with Dorothy at 1:25 and sleeping until 3:27 with her all snuggled against m. I mean, duh. There is nothing NOTHING better than sleeping with a tiny cuddly baby. I plan to do that a lot for the next 2 or 3 weeks because she is a horrible daytime sleeper. I wonder if lying down with her for 3 naps a day will help her gradually learn to sleep during those times. Right now, she really only sleeps in the jogging stroller or the Ergo or on my lap, but she really does have general nap times-- around 8:30 in the morning, around 10:30 in the morning, and around 2 in the afternoon. If she added in a dinner prep time cat nap to get her through to her 6:00 bedtime, I think she'd be good to go. Anyway, though, after she figures out her naps, my days of snuggling with a sleeping baby will be largely over. How heartbreaking is that?
I thought that the shittiest part of my weekend happened bright and early Friday morning, and I was relieved to have gotten it over with so quickly and efficiently. It rained before the kids went to school, so I assumed that the morning exercise walk that I have gotten in the habit of taking as soon as I drop the big boys off was not going to happen. Instead of getting myself dressed in cuteish workout clothes, I stuck the baby in her bouncer and cleaned all 3 bathrooms, which I usually do after I take H and J to school. Figuring I would stick Dorothy in the Ergo where I could shield her with an umbrella and where she would hide my clothes, I stayed in the gray capri yoga pants and gray t-shirt I slept in, adding a ratty green Northface sweatshirt because it was cold. At the last possible second, as the kids were finding their rain boots and loading their lunches into their backpacks, though, I noticed a break in the storm and decided to head out for a walk after all. Not really thinking about how terrible I looked, I put Dorothy and Cooper in the double jogger, and we headed out. LATE. Not late enough for the tardy bell, but late enough that Jack's class had already gone up to their room, so I had to walk him inside. Except my stroller would not fit through the door to school. So, I let Cooper-- dressed in red and green teddy bear pajama leggings and a blue, black, and red plaid button-down pajama top, red and yellow Crocs, and syrup-- out and schlepped the car seat in over my arm. Once inside, Cooper BOLTED and started following kids to their classrooms. I chased him down, realizing that my nighttime nursing bra doesn't offer the same kind of support as a sports bra and really wishing I had brushed my teeth and worn giant sunglasses. Somehow, Jack, Cooper, Dorothy, and I struggled up the stairs to Jack;s classroom, where Cooper lost his shit because he wanted to go in. Of course Jack's teachers welcomed him warmly, and we all stood around for a few minutes while I wished I had on deodorant. On our way out through the cafeteria, Cooper fell down in the janitor's post-breakfast dirt pile, and we had to walk pat a line of well-dressed, perfumed, made-up fifth grade moms waiting to chaperone a field trip. I said, "Hahaha. I never have to come inside the building when I have it together in the morning," and they said cricket cricket. It was ridiculous, and I head that Harper Valley PTA soung in my head for my whole walk.
This may have been the worst part of my weekend, until this afternoon when Jack crapped his swimsuit in the bathroom because he played in the sprinkler too long and really had to go by the time he tore himself away. This would have been no big deal had he MENTIONED it to me. Instead, he dumped it out of his pants onto the floor and COVERED IT UP WITH THE RUG, shut the bathroom door, and went back outside. I came into the bathroom to put away a stack of fluffy yellow towels warm from the dryer, and smell smacked me in the face. Then I noticed a shit handprint on the linen closet door, a wad of poop smushed into the sink faucet, and a waste basket full of soggy brown tissues. I was super nice to Jack, calling him in from the yard to take a shower (shit fell out of his SOCKS when he took them off in the laundry room) and telling him that next time, he should just ask for help right away. Then I bleached the shit (LITERALLY) out of every possible bathroom surface including the floor and washed all the rugs and towels 3 times on hot and then cleaned the washer with bleach and then ran a load of whites with bleach. It was gross-- I kept finding new shit spots (like the wall behind the hand towel), so I had to think if I were Jack and had poop all over my hands, what else would I touch? Everything, apparently. The light switch for sure.
Ben has been dying to buy a dog for Harry's birthday, and I was inches away from agreeing with him even though I kind of think a dog would make every aspect of my life worse. Then I found the downstairs toilet totally clogged with toilet paper and covered with piss, and shitmageddeon happened upstairs. I felt perfectly confident in my decision to tell the family no dog until all the humans in the house can pot their bodily waste where it is supposed to go. Next we'll work on the toothpaste in the sinks.
|Took Jack on a bike ride before we picked up Harry at school. He loved the alone time.|
|Also the dandelions|
|Another echo. Good news: Effusion is gone-- heart and lungs clear. Bad news: his aortic valve is leaky.|
|I am so fat and will post about that soon, but oh my god she's getting so big. Here she was in the pose on 4-8.|
|Round head and face like baby Cooper.|
|Such a goofy face-- she might have my lazy eye|
|Future veggie garden...|
|So much dramz.|