A Day In the Life

alternately titled: Why SAHM's have a much harder job than I have

Here's how it went today (and this was not a particularly difficult one) at home with the Sweet Pea:

7:15 rather satisfying dream about Robert Downey Jr. in a dressing room interrupted by twenty-one pounds of toddler leaping elbows first onto my bladder to wake me up

Took toddler to potty in vain hopes she would pee before I keeled back over asleep. Gave her a piece of toilet paper to play with as she loves playing with all forms of paper--she tried to eat it and I got to pick shreds of damp tissue off her tongue while she tried to bite me for 'stealing' her paper. (This is the SAME child about whom I looked up MensaForKids' "how do I tell if my child is bright?"...uh I'm guessing that EATING TOILET PAPER is not an indicator.)

Coaxed toddler into high chair with a homemade pumpkin muffin. Ushered noisy dogs out the slider whilst body blocking so she couldn't throw (laxative effect) muffin to the dogs with sensitive stomachs. I stuffed a granola bar in my mouth intermittently while retrieving last night's bottle, disassembling it and placing it in the wash basin we use for her stuff with baby palmolive and water-that-takes-forever-to-get-hot and now she's throwing pieces of muffin. Retrieved muffin pieces, eat those that had just landed on floor, discard rest. Opened fruit cup (100% juice packed no added sugar), drained it, gave her five pieces of fruit making sure they are not all pineapple because she shares her dad's hatred of pineapple.

7:30 Finish granola bar and throw away wrapper, let dogs back in and shepherd them to the living room away from Muffin Baby who wants to give them pastries that will make them poop explosively in inappropriate locations. She is generous that way, y'all.

Wipe toddler and tray. Remove tray. Dogs bark freakishly because I have removed tray which signals mayhem and death to all inhabitants. Discard used paper towel before SP can attempt to ingest it. Distract her with a toy picnic basket, strip the pad and straps off high chair to wash. Shuffle laundry from dryer to table, from washer to dryer, get her pj pants off the bathroom floor by the potty and throw them in the load with the high chair stuff. Fold clothes intermittently while hauling SP off the oven. It is her life's ambition to climb the front of the oven. The warming drawer beneath my Kenmore had a plastic handle she intends to use as a foothold to see over the oven handle, which she will yank on ultimately (I FEAR) causing the door to swing forward as she climbs and bashing out her teeth/causing brain damage/etc. When I say a harsh NO NO instead of calmly redirecting her, she runs directly to the thick dowel rod we use to block the slider track and tries to take it. That isn't yours! I tell her. Put it back! She just looks at me until I go get the damn thing. By now I have folded ONE SINGLE TOWEL which I knocked off the table and it came Unfolded.

Turn on iTunes. Dance with baby around kitchen waving arms and stomping feet. Counting Crows comes on. She squeals and throws herself on the floor writhing in her best attempt at what looks like the earthworm. I stand her back up, get a towel and wipe the crumbs under cabinet edge I spied when I bent over. Then wipe behind trash can. Survey now filthy towel in disgust and take it to the laundry then run back to peel SP off the oven door again.

Give her a sippy of juice. Read 26 nursery rhymes without stopping. Go to nursery and attempt to teach her to put her books back on the shelf. Read "Llama Llama Mad at Mama" nine times consecutively. She digs "Sesame Workshop Nighty Night" out of the donate pile and I read it seven times. Each time I hand it to her and tell her to put it on the shelf if we're finished or point to Elmo if she wants to hear it again. The eighth time she points I drag her to the potty to escape Elmo. She doesn't pee but she does leap from the potty and run shrieking and bare-tushied around the bedroom until I corral her and wrestle her into a pull up. When we return to the nursery I manage to get two (non matching) socks on her wriggling feet as she screams and slaps. I scoot her legs into a pair of jeans and am contemplating whether to attempt the shirt or just leave her in the pj top when she grows suspiciously quiet and intent. I sniff and ask the question you must never ever ask in a fine restaurant:
Did you poop?

The answer, sadly, yes.

And, folks, it was then EIGHT A.M. That's right. At work tomorrow I'll teach, I'll read, then I'll get a twenty minute break to pee, get a diet dr. pepper and speak pleasantly with another adult. Work=much easier. For reals.

xoxo Diva