So I start my day today and I'm feeling industrious. I decide to get the jump on things and go upstairs to lay out Chester's crib since he had an accident overnight. His crib sheet was already laid out thanks to daddy but I need to set up a clean sleep sack, lovey and arrange his toys. After, I go about my usual morning routine, making a smoothie and getting C's food prepared. I feed him, then go to rinse out his cups. But the kitchen sink is clogged. Again. We thought it was fixed last night. No such luck. We are out of Drano. Great. I try a recipe for a natural drain cleaner I found on Pinterest that calls for distilled vinegar and baking soda. I only have regular vinegar. Ewkay. Um. Does it really matter? Let's give it a shot. The instructions state for you to pour the contents down the drain. Um hello? Didn't anyone get the memo? My drain is clogged. Sigh. I start to bail water. It's not perfect, and I won't be able to bail the damn drain but I do the best I can. I manage to slop dirty sink water on my face, glasses and freshly washed hair. Fuck. I pour the baking soda in, then the vinegar. The contents hiss angrily in the sink. Damn. Imagine what this frothy mess would accomplish in the drain itself? It says to let stand for 30 minutes. I go back to feeding Chester, giving him rice cakes to finish his meal. Afterwards, I put him in his play area for a few while I race madly upstairs and quickly wash my face again.
When I get downstairs, I smell something ungood. C had a poo. From the smell of it, it's a Poomageddon. Sigh. I struggle to get him upstairs as he writhes kicking and shrieking in my arms. This is definitely Pooapalooza. Why is it in when Tim gets the weekend poops, they're always a nice solid mass which are a breeze to clean? This is pudding pop fest, and it's everywhere. Worse yet, C's hand has snaked straight into the corner of the diaper that's leaking. I wet-wipe his hand as best I can and try to keep him from "helping," but he keeps making his business, um, well his business, and continues to rake his hand through the mess. This is the moment I run out of wipes. Oh great. After we are done, I carry him to the sink to wash his hands. But not before he takes his "shit hand" and wipes it across my freshly washed face. Double Fuck.
I wash his hands, put him in his crib, get him in his sleep sack, then deal with that toxic steaming mass of diaper that needs to be contained. I extract the soiled sleeper and bring it to the washroom for Stage 1: Spray the shit out of said sleeper with Resolve. I had put a refill beside the bottle on the weekend hoping Tim would fill it for me. A little trifle for him considering he never has to deal with the grossness of cleaning a soiled piece of clothing. A pretty sweet deal yes? Do you think that the bottle was filled, dear reader? Do you believe my husband so charitable and kind, even grateful, to do me this one small favour? Nope. I know the answer before I even reach for it. The bottle is empty. I fill it, spray the outfit, wash my hands a million times and go back to tuck Chester in bed. By now, the arrangement of toys and blankets I had carefully laid out earlier have been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor.
I throw everything in willy nilly, close the blinds, bid C good nap, and go wash my face. Again. All before noon. I'm exhausted. Just in time to do my workout. I guess it's true what they say. No good deed goes unpunished. That's quite the string of bad luck to kick off the week. Does it get easier?
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