Sometimes I think I am too old for this! As I readied breakfast, got Little Joe to the table, seated the boys, fed Little Joe and got the boys off for school, the foremost thought in my mind was that Martin and I had to be downtown in little under 2 hours for his consultation for the proceedure on his lungs.
I hadn't slept for most of the night, as my mind was racing over many things, nothing in particular, and I felt exhausted already at only 7:30 am. I picked up Little Joe, gave him a big squeeze and knew right away that he was extremely "squishy" meaning "you know what!" With a hugh sigh, I took him back to change him, (he was so very aromatic), got the diaper, the wipes and his bottle. He is a wiggle worm now, and changing him is a real challenge, but never more than when he has done his best, and I found myself staring at an overwhelmed pamper, grabbing for the wipes, trying to subdue the little tornado, and doing my best to keep poo off of my comforter. I got the brilliant idea to let Little Joe hold his bottle for a moment to distract him, and it worked great until, when in the process of shoving the "didey, wipes and contents" into the diaper genie, I heard him squeal. I looked back at him, and the little buggar had managed to loosen the top of his bottle and the milk had poured all over him and my comforter! The clock was ticking, and now I had to change him again, change his clothes and scream at Martin to get his big bohunckus out of bed. I was still in my nightgown, which was also soon milk soaked, as well as the undies beneath it. I took Little Joe to the big recliner, changed him and dressed him and plunked him in his playpen. I then yanked off the sheets, almost depositing Martin on the floor, (he told me he heard me the first time, I didn't have to get so extreme!), took my nightgown and undies along with the sheets to the washer, and came back and took a shower. Little Joe was fussing, and Martin made the causal comment that maybe I should take a moment and get a bottle for the baby. I considered throwing the soap-filled scrubby at his head, but then I would only have to get it back, and so I suggested in a very unlady-like manner that maybe HE should get the baby a bottle, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He said, "first you holler at me, then you practically throw me on the floor, then you yell at me to feed the baby. What's got into you this morning?" I poked my head out of the shower, and with monumental patience, told him that time was wasting, and I could use a little help! With a wounded look, he said, "well all you had to do was ask!" I finished my shower, got dressed, did my hair, took my medicine for the morning, brushed my teeth, cleaned my trach and went into the bedroom to find Martin standing around fully dressed, holding the baby in one arm and the bottle in his other hand. His attitude was one of "I don't know why you make such a bid deal out of everything, see? It is easy!" and I graciously suggested that he take the baby to the car and I would get everything else. Everything else means, the diaper bag, the toys, the food, the stroller and myself. As I stomped through the house with all this stuff, I glanced at the clock, and found it to be only 8:00 am. All that happened in only half an hour?
The rest of the day went pretty much the same, and I was so tired that I didn't think I could even finish the day, not to mention putting up with all the crap. Martin took Little Joe and I to lunch at the Golden Corral, and that was nice, and I even began to believe that things might be looking up- and then on the way home it happened. For absolutely no reason in the world, I got a laryngeal spasm, and went into a horrible choking fit. I could not breath, could not stop coughing, began to feel faint, scared the dickens out of Little Joe, and worst of all, wet my pants. I must have choked for at least five minutes, somehow being able to get little gasps of air in between the massive coughing, and after all that, I felt my lunch trying to come up. We were at least 15 minutes from home, and after I got some sort of control, Martin threw a napkin at me, "just in case I puked". By now, Little Joe was screaming in terror, I felt absolutely miserable, realized I had wet the seat of the car, was doing my best to keep my lunch down, and also trying not to whack Martin in the back of the head. Finally, finally, we got home and my magnificent husband told me, "you go on in sweetie, I'll get the baby. It looks like you could use another shower!" Bless him. I took his suggestion, and as I went through the back gate to get into the house, the jubilant monsters known as the dogs in our family jumped with joy to see that we were home. I wanted to punch them, but I know that if I had, they would probably have sailed over the fence at the far end of the yard. I made it to the bathroom, took a shower, put on fresh clothes and thought joyously of falling into bed to sleep the afternoon away. My hopes were dashed as I saw the naked bed with no sheets on it. I took the comforter and spread it out and lay down on top of it, and said to heck with all of it. I finally got an hour nap, and then, the bus came, the kids got home, Little Joe woke up hungry and wet and on and on. Well, I am going to bed now, and lay this day aside. Tomorrow will be better, right? It better be!