Where do I begin?
I’ve been defeated by a small human and after a three day battle, I’m throwing in the towel. The same towel, in fact, that I just used to clean up all of this…well, we’ll get to that in a moment.
So Hubby has been out of town for a conference since Thursday morning. Somewhere in the last two days “nap time” for Gia became “scream until your nose blows bubbles or the neighbors call DFS”. Somehow, I managed to get food in the oven for lunch and started on chores. You know that awkward moment when you’re in the middle of cleaning and your nose perks up from the fresh smell of burnt fish sticks? Well I do. So I jump up and do my “Shit!Shit!Shit!Shit!Shit!” dance all the way down to the kitchen only to find that the question of original or extra crispy doesn’t really apply to fish sticks. New fish sticks go in the oven.
I’m on my way back upstairs when my nose crinkles up again. Oh shit. But literally this time. My little
fallen angel had somehow managed in those few minutes to defecate, and spread it strategically across her entire body, the bed, and the comforter. Dry clean only.
*a single tear rolls down my check* Seriously y’all, I cried.
I was on the phone with Hubby the whole time, at least until I hung up on him. What’s worse is that all I could do as she looked at me was imagine her maliciously singing in her head:
Man. I barely even have the morale to write this post, but thought you all could share my pain with me, or ruthlessly laugh at it. Which would be absolutely warranted, cause ish like this only happens in movies, right? Wish the hubs luck tonight guys, cause when he gets back he’s going to have a baby with a bow wrapped around her addressed: To Daddy. I’m still debating where exactly I’m going to throw in that aforementioned towel…