This heat (104+degrees) in Dallas is going to be the death of me. Yesterday I got up at 5am and went to the first workout for this season's White Rock Half Marathon class. It was already 82 by the time we started running at 5:30am. I tried to be peppy & encouraging as I led my group on the run but in my head I was thinking, "KILL ME NOW IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL TO SWEAT THIS MUCH AFTER 3 MINUTES OF EASY RUNNING!"
By end of day, I just wanted a good night's rest as our house labored to stay under 79 degrees indoors with the A/C blaring. I took just one lil' Tylenol PM hoping to sleep all night without any disturbances. Other people in our home didn't get this memo. At 3:30am I could faintly make out Davy crying through the haze of my medication-induced coma. Usually I'm fine with letting her cry it out but I also heard a dull thumping - suddenly my body went into Emergency Momma Mode and I flew out of bed fearing that she had gotten out of her crib.
On the way to my bedroom door, stumbling drunkenly in total darkness mind you, I sensed Fatty anxiously bumping against the door frame. Mystery thumping sound identified. I opened the door and he shot out of the bedroom like a bat outta hell. In my stupor I vaguely thought, "uh oh."
I've been weaning Davy for the past few weeks and it's been hard for us both: hard for me because it signifies the end of a sweet time in life. Hard for Davy because Woe to the one who comes between Davy and her food!! Woe, I say! The weeping and gnashing of teeth coming from the crib broke me so I nursed her in the middle of the night. Something I haven't done in many months.
Once she was down I was able to get my brain to tell my body, "left foot, right foot" back to my bedroom. But a nagging image of Fatty flying down the hall, toenails clickety clacking, was haunting me. I slowly made my way to the kitchen, turned on the light and saw what I had feared: Diarrhea Slaughterhouse 2009 all over the tiled floor.
The funny thing is that I barely flinched. It's like after almost of year of being a mom, liquid piles of poop on the floor don't even phase me. I just cleaned it all up, didn't even bother finding Fatty, who I'm sure had taken refuge in some dark hiding place, and shuffled back to my bed.
What a glamorous life I do lead.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Labels
- books (5)
- davy (23)
- family stuff (21)
- fatty (4)
- friends (11)
- Jesus (4)
- katesbuns (3)
- katy (5)
- mommydom (34)
- movies (9)
- music for the moment (5)
- Photo of the day (15)
- politics (1)
- prayer (12)
- random (26)
- running (2)
- Russ (8)
- stuff i like (1)
- therapy stuff (3)
- things I swear by (3)
- thoughts from the MON (7)
- tv (9)
- video (5)
5 comments:
I commented to Becky this morning that the saving grace in it all was that (a) it was not on the carpet,(b) she was not walking in the dark only to feel something squishy between her toes, and (c) both of the above. I have had that experience and it is not one I care to repeat--EVER.
This makes me laugh so hard! Poor Fatty (and poor you, too)....great story!
Bahahaha! So gorss, but so funny. Sorry it was all at your expense. So truen though ... poop I am semi immune to you now! Hope weaning progesses ok! I miss BF so. Never thought I would feel that way!
Oh, Becky, it's just one of those things that happens. Davy's crying is heartbreaking in itself, but poor Fatty. Poor you, too. Mom is right -- it was on tile and you didn't step in it. No fun, though.
I hope Davy will realize soon that food is readily available and not from the breast. I hope Fatty is fine, not sick. I send love and hugs to all three of you!
Better you than me, Beckles! I would have puked right then and there. God's going to have to change me to be able to withstand smells and nastiness. It's just part of nurturing others.
Post a Comment