Manic Monday

Mondays are notoriously rough. Mostly for people who actually have day jobs and have to spend the day recovering from the weekend and playing catch up for the week that has just begun. I worked once, I know how Mondays are. Monday tried to get me this morning. It was almost a "Manic Monday" but I prevailed. I woke up this morning to AGW fussing over the monitor like usual. She is my alarm clock most mornings of the week. This morning I struggled to throw my swollen feet out of bed because last night was a call night. No one sleeps well on call nights. It took a minute or two before I could convince myself to get up, but finally my body lost the battle to guilt and crawled out of bed. Before I go upstairs to get my little princess I have to do the things I know I won't be able to do once she is with me: use the bathroom, make coffee, let the dogs outs, start breakfast. I've got all of that down to 2 minutes, max. Usually then I can turn on Sesame Street on the way upstairs so that when I bring my grumpy baby downstairs, she is happy to sit and watch Elmo for a minute while I finish breakfast and then cuddle up to her with my coffee. But this is Monday, so instead I walked out to find 2 piles of dog vomit on the couch and one in the living room floor. Ugh. Good morning to me. The upset tummy explains why Cash needed to sleep with his Mommy early this morning. So instead of continuing with my normal routine I listened to the level of fussiness coming from the monitor and determined that I had just enough time to clean up the mess before AGW was fully awake and wailing. No way to start any day! Fortunately, as I vacuumed and scrubbed, I heard a knock at the door and saw my sweet husband's face! He was home nice and early from his night on call! Seeing him made cleaning up vomit a little more tolerable, at least I wouldn't have to face the rest of my Monday alone!

Then we both went upstairs to surprise AGW and found her sitting at the end of her bed waiting for me, as usual. She saw her daddy and gasped "Daddy Home! Daddy Home! Daddy Home!". This was the perfect start to her Monday. After picking her up however, we discovered that she was soaked. Soaked through her diaper, pj's, pillow, and all the bedding. Ugh. This would have been strike 2 for my "Manic Monday" if Carey had not come home. We peeled her out of her wet pj's and crumbling diaper and I couldn't have been more grateful to have Carey's assistance on this particular Monday.

Strike 3 came as I was getting AGW dressed for the day. I needed to slather her with diaper cream to help recover from the diaper soaking of the night before. I couldn't find the opened tube (go figure) so I grabbed a new tube and squeezed. Not a power squeeze, just a regular squeeze. But on this particular Monday, this squeeze was enough to literally shoot the first bit of diaper cream straight up into the air, bounce off the ceiling, and land directly on my head. Really? What are the odds? If Carey hadn't been home, this would've been the breaking point. I would have taken it as a sign to stay off the streets and go back to bed. Instead I laughed, put on a hat, and told myself it could have been worse. It could have been bird poop. Monday didn't get me this time.