Can We Start Over?

Friday, August 8, 2014

Today was one of those days where I wish I could have just started over from the very beginning. Crawl back into my king size fluffy bed, close my eyes, and let the day begin again.

I would be blissfully awakened by the giggles of my son, and as I stand up and stretch and whisper ‘good morning’ to my dear husband, I would walk down the hallway to see my sweet baby boy with his toothy grin clapping upon entering his room.
Screeeeeeech— that little fantasy has come to a hault, folks. Blissful? Ha! I don’t even know what that word means.
6:12 a.m.
I blink my eyes at the clock. Why does it feel like 4 a.m.? Probably because I was up hours before to calm Lucca down and settle him back to sleep after he sat straight up screaming and crying. Typical routine that’s been going on the last few weeks. He’s squawking now. The monitor is still on and the sounds he is making from just one room over are now amplified. No clapping, but banging on the sides of his crib. I try to ignore it for a few more minutes. I close my eyes, not sure why because I’m not going back to sleep, but whatever.
6:19 a.m.
I finally get up to walk down the hallway with a rat’s nest of hair and only one eye open. Ahh, another day has begun. WhatWhat the hell is that? Honestly, at this point I’m scared to walk any closer. But, he’s seen me now so walking away would be mean. As I stand over his crib, I’m literally looking at my worst nightmare. 
Yes, that’s what I screamed, but with ‘Holy’ preceding it. But no, this was NOT holy shit. This was shit all over his adorable Pottery Barn sheets. Creeping out of his two-piece pajamas. Smeared all over the damn place. I’m quickly regretting the fact that I waited those extra minutes to come get him because I am now realizing that it was during those precious moments that he thought to himself, “Oh hey! What’s this? This wasn’t here before. Hmm.. let’s explore…”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I yell down to Greg to help. He stands and gawks. ‘How did that happen?’ I mean, do you really want me to go into detail or…? He starts a bath. Yep, a bath ladies and gentleman. At freaking 6 in the morning. Good thing I gave him one last night too…
6:40 a.m.
After fighting with him to get a onesie on, we finally head downstairs for breakfast. I’ve read enough books to know the BRAT system for the type of situation we were dealing with. For those of you who are unaware: BRAT= Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast. That’s all on the menu today so we don’t have to find ourselves in this mess (literally) again. 
6:55 a.m.
Food. Everywhere. Thrown in every direction possible. WHY IS MY FLOOR SO FREAKING DIRTY? Oh yeah, my mom is watching Brooklyn for a few days. I don’t have an automatic vacuum cleaner to clean up after this child. I don’t think he’s put a single ounce of food in his mouth, so I quickly throw in the towel. Time to go to work.
I clock into work. Set him down in his baby jail with Mickey on to distract him. In the past few days, he’s realized he can pull himself up and hold on to whatever is in front of him. He does this, and screams. For anybody who has met Lucca, you will know he is a happy baby, laughs, giggles, laughs at himself even more…
But, I don’t know who this child is in this baby jail. He’s making sounds I have never heard before in my life. He’s gotten himself up and doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what’s happening to his jelly legs. I try to let it go for awhile to see if he just tires himself out and plops down. Nope. I go to get him and show him how to put his butt down. This is 1 out of 32482309489203 times I will do this today.
Oh, you thought my shitty situation was over did you? WRONG. I hear a God awful noise coming from my son and instantly whip my computer chair around. He’s got this weird smirk on his face like ‘Ma, I don’t know what the hell that was either.’
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Now, I’m regretting putting a onesie on this kid. Now I have to strategically fold the bottom up so it doesn’t get on his back. FAIL. It gets on his back, AND on my carpet. And now I’m wrestling a 10-month-old to change his diaper. 
Oh. My. God.
I scream an obscenity and I feel bad because Lucca looks up at me like “Eh, Sorry?” but I literally just want to cry. I haven’t even started the laundry yet so I guess that’s the only good thing going for me. I clean him up. Clean up the floor. Soak everything in Shout and start the wash. This kid isn’t going to wear clothes all day, that’s for damn sure.
I have to put him back in jail and start work. But the screaming. And the pulling up. The up and down goes on and on and on… At this point, I’m on my second cup of coffee and I haven’t done a single thing productive. I’m instantly hating Greg for leaving me here. Totally not his fault, but I have to direct it somewhere. 
Time for a bottle. I run back upstairs to get it and think ‘Thank God’ because a bottle at this time means nap time is in our near future. Peace. Finally. 
LIGHTS. OUT. He’s asleep. But really? It’s not even 9 a.m. and the type of morning I’ve had is unbelievable. Of course I have to text my mom and sister and fill them in. They semi make me feel better by letting me know they’ve been there. I’m gonna need another cup of coffee.
And the rest of the day was filled with 5 loads of laundry and back and forth to the baby jail. I’ve never been more excited to clock out at the end of the day.
The funny thing is, I KNOW this has happened to pretty much every mother there ever was in the history of motherhood. But when you’re in the middle of dealing with it yourself, all you want to do is curl up in the fetal position and close your eyes and hope that it all goes away. Ugh, what a shitty day. TGIF? TGIF MY ASS. 

I would have loved to start this oh-so-lovely Friday differently. Ahh well, tomorrow is another day…

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