It’s been one of those days

I’m going to precede this post by saying that I understand that I have it really good and that my life is generally super easy.  I’ve worked hard for a lot of the things that I have, but I also know how lucky I am to have a husband who takes on 50% (okay, sometimes a lot more) of the responsibilities around the house and baby, we both have full-time jobs, great daycare, blah blah blah.  I know all this.  Now may I complain for a little bit?

Jon and I have a system when we’re home – we get home, one of us plays with the baby while the other gets dinner ready, we all sit down for dinner, then the other person plays with the baby while one of us cleans up.  By Peanut’s bedtime we take turns picking up and getting her ready for bed, kiss her good night and crash on the couch.  You see, it’s one of those goals – getting everything done by baby’s bedtime so the last 2 hours of the evening are ours – to finish work, blog, watch TV, whatever.

When Jon is traveling, the routine usually goes out the window.  Peanut wants me to pay attention to her while I’m trying to slap something together for dinner – there is usually whining, burnt dinner, and an insane amount of dishes.  During dinner I am either still finishing dinner or attempting to clean up a little while I’m trying to get baby to eat and stuff something into my own belly.  After dinner I don’t even bother cleaning up because it usually means that Peanut will either whine or cause trouble.  Sometimes I get a handful of dishes done while she chases the dog around.  By the end of her bedtime routine, I’m spent.  That’s when I get to clean up, pick up, pack for next day and maybe, just maybe, crash on the couch for a little while.

But when Jon travels on Wednesdays, that’s just the worst.  You see Wednesdays are take-the-trash-out-to-the-curb days.  First of all, I absolutely hate taking the trash out.  It smells.  It’s heavy.  It’s dirty.  And last night it was raining outside.  Not to mention that I’m scared of going under the porch to go get it when it’s already dark out.

Last night, though, took the cake.

The evening started off rather well – I prepped most of the dinner items the night before so I was a step ahead.  Peanut was in a great mood, which almost always puts me in a great mood.  We got home, let the dog out, changed out of our work clothes (Peanut likes to assist in all daily routine activities) and moved the party to the kitchen.  Peanut ran around with the dog, took out all of the Tupperware out of the drawer, trashed most of the junk drawers and emptied the content on the floor, and dragged her white teddy bear all over the semi-dirty floors.  But you know what?  She wasn’t whining and I cooked dinner while she kept herself busy.

When dinner was about 80% finished, Peanut started crying and signing that she wanted to eat, so I washed her hands and stuck her in the high chair that I dragged over to the kitchen.  She happily chomped on a turkey meatball while I finished our dinner.  The kitchen was completely trashed, but I sat down with P and we both finished our dinner.

(Yes, that’s my kid mashing her food into her hair…good thing it’s “real” bath night)

After dinner, the place was a wreck but Peanut’s great mood was too good to waste, so we spent the next half hour playing and trashing her room.  By 7pm we were both smiling and ready for bath time (totally needed…see above).

I gave Peanut a real bath, blew dried her hair, got her dressed, and we read some books together.  I tried to ignore the mess in the kitchen, the mess in the living room, the mess in the hallway, the mess in the bathroom and just live in the moment.  We finished our books and headed to the kitchen to warm up P’s milk and Pediasure.  I opened the Padiasure bottle, set it on the counter (balanced Peanut on to my other hip), poured the milk, and proceeded to vigorously shake the Pediasure bottle.  The bottle that was open.

Sticky, sweet, (pricy), Pediasure went all over the place.  The kitchen counters.  The carpet.  The floors.  The Peanut.  The dishes.  The clean dishes.  The trash can.  The oven.  Me.

(yes, I took a picture.  and mentally wrote this post in my head to keep myself from panicking.)

I think that was the straw that broke the camel’s back – I looked at the dishes piling up on the counters, the full dishwasher, the stuff all over the floors, the full trash can that would have to be dragged out to the curb.  And my hungry toddler that was being surprisingly patient with me and the disaster.

Shockingly (this really is shocking), I didn’t panic but just finished making the bottle, fed P (who only drank 1/3 of it…sigh), changed her pajamas into clean ones, washed her arms, brushed her teeth, and put her to bed.  Then I spent almost an hour scrubbing counters, washing and rewashing dishes, cleaning the floors, cleaning the carpet, and picking up.  Then I got the trash together, pulling it all out to the curb in the pouring rain.

Tonight Jon is back and our routine will be right where we left off.

Last night I drank wine.

(no, not a lot.  just a glass.  I’m responsible, I swear.)


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