Annelle: ”I don’t really think things can get any worse.”
Ouiser: ”Of course they can.”
Welcome to my Tuesday.
Small Fry had his last bottle of the night (Monday) around 12:30. It was followed by a couple of great burps and a mild blowout. I changed his diaper and his clothes, swaddled him up because he LURVES to be swaddled like a burrito at night, and put him in his crib.
I crawled into my big old bed and actually fell into a deep, wonderful sleep.
Zeus started barking about 45 minutes later, so I dragged myself out of bed and took him out. After he wandered around for a few minutes and barked at nothing, I crawled back into bed and shut the door.
Small Fry was awake at 5:00. By the time I fixed a bottle, he had drifted back to sleep and didn’t wake up again for 30 minutes, so I laid there and stared at the ceiling until he was awake and ready to eat. Oh, y’all. The previous blowout was just the opening act to the one he’d saved up. I practically bathed him with baby wipes and changed his clothes. Then I changed my pajamas, too. Bleh.
After taking out the trash, putting the dirty clothes in the laundry, and praying that Small Fry will be easier to potty train than Tater Tot (who shows no interest whatsoever, Lord help me), I slid under the covers for another couple hours of sleep.
Twenty minutes later, Tater Tot hollered, so I went into his room and helped him get back to sleep. After that, the dogs needed to go out.
I managed to sleep from about 7:30 to 8:30, and anyone with a newborn will tell you that you’ll take an hour of sleep any way you can get it. Tater Tot wandered in at 8:30 and snuggled with me for a little while until Small Fry started stirring and then we were up and at ‘em.
The morning was relatively dull. I made a grocery list and tried to figure out how I would fit so many things in the cart alongside Small Fry and considered taking Tater Tot’s little red wagon and towing it behind us. But then my problem was solved for me.
About the time I was prepping to leave, I let the dogs in. As I closed the door and locked it, I backed up and stumbled over Hatchie. I was mumbling something really ugly when I realized that he was having a seizure. The poor thing has them every now and then, and they always happen when he’s been outside in the heat. He shook, fell over, and peed all over the kitchen. When it was all over, he staggered around and bumped into everything for a few minutes. After that, I herded him outside again because the next thing he had to do was poop all over the place (I’ve learned from experience), and I’d had about all of that I could stand for the day.
Since he’s been known to have one right after another, my plan to go to the store got nixed, and we needed to go to the store in the worst way. We were out diet cokes! Oh, we also needed minor stuff like milk and bread. I called Tater Daddy and told him what had happened and let him take his pick: he could either stop and get milk and bread and diet cokes on his way home, or I could go to the store after he got home. I hate to spring stuff like that on him after he’s been at work all day. ”Hey, honey! Welcome home. I know you’ve been hard at work all day earning a living and all. Now, come on in and play babysitter while I leave for an hour or so to do what really should’ve been done during the day. You’re swell!” It just doesn’t seem right.
Bless his heart. He came home a little early and stayed with Small Fry while Tater Tot and I went to the grocery.
We managed to snag one of the carts Tater Tot likes to ride in, and while zooming through the produce department, he spied the grapes. He loves grapes and he’s always been very careful to chew them thoroughly before swallowing, so I got a big bag. And because I’m raising a little thief, I let him eat a few.
I was getting a few sweet potatoes and that’s when I heard the sound of Tater Tot choking. Between my whacking him on the back hard enough to make him cough up a lung and his unbelievable gag reflex (that child can throw up anything, anytime), that grape popped right out. It scared the wits out of both of us. His little eyes were watery and I was asking him if he could talk. In this weak little voice he said, “Yes, Mama. I can talk.”
Guess what else he could do?
Vomit. He threw up right there in front of the sweet potatoes and onions. My first thought was, Poor little thing. I never should have let him have those grapes. Oh, mercy, I’m just unfit. My second thought was, Lordhavemercy, you are just covered in Dorito vomit. Why did I let you have Doritos at lunch?
Fortunately, I stopped thinking and got him cleaned up, and a very nice custodian took care of the floor. We went right along with our shopping, because after your toddler throws up in the produce section of the grocery, things can only get better, right?
Not in our world.
For reasons that I still don’t understand, Tater Daddy has had me use a credit card for all of my purchases for the past year or so. It had something to do with frequent flyer miles or points or cash back at the end of the year or free diet cokes or whatever. I don’t know all the details. I just know how much I’m supposed to spend before he gives me the stink-eye.
The groceries were all bagged and in the cart. I swiped my trusty credit card. It was declined. I swiped it again. Declined. Again. The cashier ran it through her machine. It’s a wonder it didn’t eat the card and spit it back out in a dozen pieces. It’s embarrassing when this happens, but I’m old enough to get past it pretty fast and go right to worried. The bill is paid every month, so I wasn’t worried that we’d reached the max. Heaven forbid! I was worried that someone had our number and was having a field day with it.
Thanks to the handy-dandy debit card, we paid for our groceries and left. We made it home without incident, which is still hard to believe, and I told Tater Daddy about the credit card nightmare. It turns out that nothing has been stolen. The card company was bought by another one, and we got “stuck” in the switch. I don’t know what that means other than the card wouldn’t work for a day or so while “things” were transferred. Whatever.
As Small Fry was playing on the floor for his nightly tummy time, Pearl wandered over and threw up a couple of feet away. Tater Daddy took care of it saying, “I think you’ve dealt with your fair share of vomit today.” I. Love. Him.
After bathing Tater Tot and putting him to bed, feeding Small Fry his last bottle (with NO blowout, thankyouverymuch), and climbing into bed that night, I thought of what Clairee might say about the day’s events.
“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”
True. The stuff that comes with being a parent isn’t always pretty. But it’s always worth it.