{31 Days: Day 9} I Can’t Even

All day long I haven’t been “feeling it” with blogging. I haven’t been feeling like I could provide any food for the soul worth any sort of nourishment. I was struggling with what to write, how to encourage, and what to share. Well… screw it.
Here’s how I will encourage you today. I will encourage you by telling you what I would tell myself if I could sit across from myself and witness the last three hours as they’ve happened. I had an interview today. Online. Via webcam. Five minutes before I was to log on, Little Man had a blowout of epic proportions. Stupid knock-off diapers. We will never stray from Pampers again. Ever. I cleaned what I could, how I could. Got on the interview like nothing just happened. He played contentedly in his exersaucer until about five minutes prior to wrapping up. Guess what he did? Blew the last blowout out of the water. Out of his diaper, out of his clothing, and out of this world. Crap was everywhere. EVERYWHERE. By the time I wrestled him out of his clothes, he had poop in his hair, his ears, my arm, his feet – oh yes. Everywhere.
Then I thought I would Skype with my parents. I went to get Little Man out of his prison crib, and he was missing his pants. HE WAS MISSING HIS PANTS. Did you see that? Eventually I found them and put them on just in time for him to spit up tremendous amounts of foul-smelling bile all over the sleeve of my brand new shirt, and our dining table. Oh yes. Exciting. As I was cleaning that up, Little Miss came to tell me about a little accident she had. Still Skyping with my parents during all of this. I guarantee you they’re cracking up now that we have hung up and said, “Payback, baby!!”

Oh and I almost forgot about Little Miss coming in to my room like she owned the place, while I was pumping, with her little phone – VIDEO TAPING! That one was deleted quicker than you can say “What the heck are you doing?!” So much for Mommy time.

I’m done. I just can’t even. 
So, mama, as you’re sitting there at your computer trying to decide if you should bash it over your head for relief, or seek some encouragement in some written word on the world-wide-web… As you’re camped on your sofa or hiding out in your bedroom at the close of an exhausting, excruciating day…. As you’re recapping your day wondering how anyone survived anything and swearing if you hear one more request for dessert you’re going to flip your ever-loving-lid…. I’m hearing you, sister. And I’m holding your face in my hands and I’m looking into your eyes and I’m telling you, you’ve got this. And you’re the only one who’s got this in your house. And the fact that you love your littles enough to be bothered and flustered by everything that goes crazy in their day is testimony to that. Little Man won’t remember ruining my clothes. Or his clothes. But he’ll rest assured in love and security because I held him regardless of the things that came out of his body. Little Miss won’t remember the accidents, but she’ll remember stories Mama made up at bedtime about little forest fairies that remember how to use the potty. 
And Mama will remember that Daddy was off reffing football and owes her a banana cream pie.
I can almost taste it…

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