The last 24 hours have been pretty shitty
I know that headline doesn’t really convey this, but I’m trying to be more positive. It’s SO hard. To help me through, I’ve adopted a new mantra. If I feel it, write it.
My husband is out of town at the moment. He travels for work a lot and I’m left with the boys (they’re 3 and 1 in case this is your first read and haven’t read my many complaints and struggles per age) and we are usually fine. In fact, I do little mommy and boy date nights or fun things together so we can have that special bonding time. And you KNOW I make the most of my alone time when they go to bed. Which means wine, Netflix, repeat.
I’m only one night into Carter’s current trip and I’m already at that emotional breakdown point.
Let’s start with yesterday.
My mom is having surgery for her gallbladder. I can’t be there with her and I know she’s scared, so that’s weighing on me.
I get to work, have a rough disagreement with a co-worker. I storm out (yes, I’m dramatic, but damnit I’m passionate about what I do).
I come back. I mean, I do have a meeting I have to lead later, with said co-worker.
The meeting actually goes great. The client is very happy with our direction and I receive a lot of positive feedback. For the next 20 minutes, while I drive to daycare, I get that “I’m a bad-ass/Rockstar woman who is killin’ it” feeling. I pick up my adorable boys who I’m so SO so happy to see after a somewhat rough day at work.
It starts pouring when I pick them up. MONSOON pouring. I can’t see anything while I’m driving them home. Harvey is terrified. I kind of am too, but I can’t let that show because he’s so scared. It was a bit unnerving, but we did make it home. That put me on edge.
I’m expecting to walk into the house and find a mess. My dog, Emmy, is 13 years old and has been not feeling great lately. She’s been having more and more accidents inside. She didn’t have one while I was at work, but she didn’t stay outside long to go potty because it was raining and she’s a diva like that. I went upstairs to change my clothes with fletch. I come back down and don’t notice that Emmy has pooped all over the rug, intricately placed within the array of Fletcher’s toys. Because I don’t notice, I step in it and spread it around. Then I slip b/c my ankle is covered in slippery dog shit. Fletcher sits in it somehow. I am immediately convinced we’re all covered in poop so I bathe the boys (and my feet). Dog poop between your toes is a new low people.
Ok. We’re clean. I’ve made them dinner. We’re in the basement away from the shit smell. We’re back on track.
Until … Fletch shits himself and has a blowout all over the clean pajamas I just put him in. When I picked him up, it got all over my shirt, my abdomen and my hands. Shit on by an animal and by a human with 30 minutes at this point, if you’re counting ;)
I get him cleaned up. New PJs. We got this. There are no more bodily fluid accidents and I get the boys to bed. Then I drink a GIANT glass of wine (I promised myself I’d make it until Thursday without drinking wine) and cheat on my diet by eating a pot of pasta. FML.
I extend an olive branch and my co-worker and I makeup via text. I sleep like an angel, and wake up ready to take today by storm. Harvey has crawled into bed with me and we’re snuggling. Today is already amazing. That shitstorm of a day yesterday (did you catch the DOUBLE PUN there????) will not seep into today.
I go into Fletchy’s nursery and take him out of the crib for a big squeeze. SHIT. He’s had another explosion that is all over him, his PJs and now me, again. And somehow Emmy has snuck into the nursery and peed on the floor. Oh and WHILE I’m changing Fletcher, I hear Harvey screaming for help. He has fallen, yes FALLEN into the toilet while taking a poop. I am so excited that he pooped in the toilet, but now I’ve got another one covered in crap, and crap water. IS THIS REAL LIFE?!
Hey, at least it’s not raining on the way to daycare! Eh? I get to work and everyone is back in the same mood. No hellos. Lots of headphones in ears and shitty attitudes (wink). They won’t drag me down either. What I’ve learned is this. Shit is everywhere. You can’t escape it. You can get it out of your clothes, but most importantly, you have to rise above the stench. Anybody feel (and hopefully not smell) me?