Yesterday, I found my wallet after losing my mind.
Luckily, I also reclaimed my mind, because I needed my wits last night. Shortly after 9 pm, Ian called out frantically from his room. When I got there, I observed that he had thrown up with a range of three feet. Almost nothing was spared. The bed. The floor. Legos. Stuffed animals. Blankets. His hair. (Brought new meaning to the term upchuck that he could puke on top of his own head.)
I had been finishing up the dishes when he cried out. I had just told myself that if I cleared out the sink I could go read my book.
I was comforting, cleaning, scrubbing, disinfecting, pre-treating, and running the laundry process until midnight-thirty. That would've been harder without a mind. And without a husband who came to help with the first part.
Then, this morning, I went in Millie's room to find her all dressed for the day. I asked if I could change her diaper and she said she already had. There was poop all over her room. Pillow, blanket, carpet, her new Stride Rite Shoes, and so forth. So, it continues. A woman's work is truly never done. Apparently, tactical waste management is what I signed up for when I joined the ranks of mothers. Better go check on Sam...
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