Embarrassment came a-knocking

I know my posts have been a bit philosophical of late but here is one that may get you laughing (at my expense again of course)…

So, you may recall I mentioned a missing courier in my last post? Danger is going through a stage of being frightened of the bath so, not being able to find any in stores, I ordered him a set of bath crayons online. He has such a penchant for drawing on the walls I thought this might appeal to his inner vandal. Well they were finally delivered today. I say “finally” though in reality I only ordered them on the weekend so they actually got here pretty quickly, only I had promised Danger he didn’t have to have another bath until his new bath toy arrived and he is a bit whiffy, so I was looking forward to their arrival with great anticipation.

The knock on the door, heralding the end of his stinky-bum-itus and pong-atosis (Danger is a fan of Doc McStuffins), came at lunch time so, kids securely fastened into high chairs, I went to collect our goodies. I signed on the small touch-screen he held out to me and taking possession of the parcel I smiled and, not thinking at all about the fact that this man had no idea of what was in the parcel he just delivered, I told the courier “Bath time is going to be fun tonight!”.

Eying the small brown paper package in my hand he gave me what could only be described as a knowing look and then he (shudder) winked at me.

Realising immediately that he assumed I was holding some kind of waterproof adult toy I blushed scarlet, stuttered out what started as a sorry and ended as a thanks but came out sounding like “stanks” and slammed the door in his face. Shaking with humiliation I walked back to my children, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror over our mantle as I passed.

What a sight!

Not only was I crimson but half of my fringe was standing straight up (a-la-there’s something about Mary) with what could only be tomato sauce, there was spinach in my teeth and, looking liking nothing so much a huge, just squeezed, pus filled pimple, I had a dollop of hummus on my cheek.

Can I crawl under a rock and hide now? Please?

But still, bath time should be fun tonight!

Seriously… another one of THOSE days!?!

Me and the kiddy-winks are housebound, full up with a cold. You know the kind, sore head, streaming eyes, nose pouring goop like someone forgot to turn off the tap at the slime factory, really charming. Sick enough to make you feel really crap but not sick enough for the excuse to stay in bed all day and let someone else (hubby) take care of everyone for a change. Hubby is not sick, probably due to him vacating to the spare room at the first sign of a sniffle (not that I blame him), he is at work, making money to pay for all the throat lozenges, tissues and laundry powder we are going through. I feel sorry for him actually (not as sorry as I feel for me right now but sorry enough), he came home for lunch today to find me lying on the lounge floor still in my dressing gown, hair un-brushed, bleary eyed, croaky voiced and with a wad of toilet paper shoved up my left nostril.

Today has been another one of those days. I am not going to bother counting all of the EW moments so far, suffice it to say they have been numerous and disgusting and the day is only half over. I will provide you with just a snapshot of the 15 minutes leading up to hubby getting home for lunch…

I have just cleaned up the 4th nappy explosion of the day. On a mainly liquid diet, necessitated by how difficult it is to breathe with a blocked nose and a full mouth, the children have been eating a lot of soup and drinking a lot of juice. This has the unfortunate side-effect of similarly liquid nappies. We are running out of clothes, fast! Poor Miss R has been hit the hardest, she is just a snot pouring, pooping, puking machine at the moment.

As I am leaning over her wiping last nights dinner from half way up her back I feel the sudden warm rush that proceeds a bout of sneezing and nose blowing. Expecting the standard nasal drip that has been a constant these last two days I hastily wipe my nose on my sleeve – yes I know that is gross but as I had my hands full of shitty baby that was the least of my worries – to find that I am not in fact snotty, I am bleeding. Continuous nose blowing for the last two days has obviously burst a blood vessel as I keep spontaneously springing a bloody leak every few hours and this one is a doozy! The blood is literally pouring and with nothing to hand but wet wipes I make the, admittedly bizarre, decision to whip off my sock and jam the hem of it in my nose. Hey it held the blood back long enough to let me finish getting a new nappy on my girl. Not taking the time to re-dress her into her pants I let her run free in just her top and diaper and instead attempt to stem my crimson fountain.

At this point Master A draws my attention to him as he has finished his lunch and wants down from his high-chair. He is covered in jam. Feeling too horrid to bother with anything more complex we have had jam sandwiches for lunch and I am not sure exactly how much he has eaten but I would estimate conservatively that he is wearing at least a quarter of what I put on his plate. Despite the fact that I am still bleeding profusely I go to one-handedly clean the jam from, well everywhere. He sneezes and, with the kind of precision only a toddler can master, I now have a great jammy booger in the middle of my chest! He is delighted! Not only did he manage to hit Mummy but he also now has a huge booger bubble ballooning from his nose, I feel sick. I am vaguely aware of little hands tugging at my pyjama leg but it is not til I hear the gurgling cough and gag of Miss R choking on her own mucous that I look down, in time to witness her vomit all over my one naked foot. Still bleeding I liberate the boy from his chair, wipe the girl’s face with a wet wipe, mop up my chest and hop to the bathroom to run my foot under the shower.

By now I figure the only way I am going to stop the bleeding is to lie down, so, replacing the sock up my nose with a handful of toilet paper, I do. Two minutes later hubby comes home. “Oh Darling are you still feeling a bit crap?”

“Yeah something like that.”

There is porridge smooshed into the couch, cat sick on the carpet and poo in my hair – it is going to be one of THOSE days…

There was no indication when I rose at 5:30 to see my husband off as he left to throw himself out of a plane, nor when I collected Miss R from her cot so she could snuggle in the big bed with me and Master A until a more civilised hour, not even as I lay unable to go back to sleep due to the 3.8 equivalent shaking of the house caused by the trucks rumbling past to the nearby housing development, that the day was going to hold so many, gag inducing, EW moments.

I should have had a clue upon rising again at 7:30 when my 2-and-a-half-year-old son exclaimed cheerily over the biscuit coated fur-ball in the middle of the hall carpet. I didn’t, instead I wrangled my 1-year-old daughter away from it, preempting her desire to pick it up and dutifully cleaned the mess (thank goodness for carpet shampooers).

I could not however avoid the slap in the face that was my next clue. Having finished his morning cocoa Master A had, as usual, filled his nappy. As it was a very cold morning I had prepared oats for all of us and carried them down to the living room for a cozy breakfast in front of the heater and morning cartoons. Unwisely (in perfect 20/20 hindsight) I put the porridge bowls on the couch in order to take care of the aforementioned full nappy. It is my opinion that the nappy companies have it all wrong, it seems that no matter what brand you buy they will inevitably be printed with some loveable furry creature or a quartet of colourfully clad men who sing about over-heated tubers.

They should, in fact, be printed with a bio hazard label and a warning –  Caution! Contents may cause retching, enter at own risk! – To my intense displeasure I found that the chronically mislabeled nappy had leaked and there was fecal matter all over the inside of my wee man’s pyjama pants and on his legs, EW 2. As I am cleaning this and him up I am unfortunately unaware of darling Miss R’s steady progress toward the couch and the waiting breakfast. Catching sight of her last-minute I lunge for her in an attempt to avoid the inevitable mess that will result in her successfully making her goal. I miss. As my triumphant girl happily massages what was supposed to be our breakfast into the fabric of the sofa I look back to discover that, in my frantic reach, my long, untied hair has swiped across my boy’s shitty backside and THERE IS POO IN MY HAIR!!! Cue intense dry heaves… EW 3.

Three shampoos and a deep condition later, seated on a freshly cleaned couch (lucky that shampooer works on furnishings too!) I feel somewhat human again and have a pretty fair idea of how the rest of the day is going to go.

I was not wrong…

I have a bit of time after breakfast before the rubbish truck is due to arrive so I take the opportunity to empty any uneaten leftovers and squishy fruit into our yet unfilled bag. As predicted I reach into the fruit bin and immediately plunge my thumb into a partially rotten cucumber, EW 4. As I carry the now nearly full bag outside to check for rubbish blown into the yard (or brought in by my kleptomaniac cat – he doesn’t care what he is stealing so his most common night-time acquisitions are trash) I stumble while swerving to avoid the sludgy remainders of what appears to be an apple dropped from our tree, drop the rubbish bag and scatter rice and vegetable peelings all over the path (I did mention in my bio on the “about” page that I am clumsy) EW 5!

EW’s 6 and 7 came in the form of further shitty nappies and although they were expected it didn’t make them any more fun. Thankfully I am given a reprieve and there are no more cringe worthy events for the rest of the afternoon or during dinner, bath time or even baby bed times. As would be expected I let this seeming calm lull me into believing that my icky moments were over (for that day at least).

Wrong!

As our bed time came Hubby and I readied ourselves for bed and proceeded to the bedroom. Shimmying Master A into the middle of the bed from his usual sideways position we climb in too, one on either side of him (yes we co-sleep – more on that in another post) and start to settle in for the night. Enter EW 8… emitting a loud groan our boy opens his mouth and out gushes a fountain of vomit! My husband (bless his strong stomach) grabs him up and holds him while wave after wave of half digested dinner comes pouring from our son. I would like to submit here that this be considered EW’s 9, 10, 11 and 12 also, as not only did he vomit on himself (EW 8) which is revolting enough but it was also all over me (9), hubby (10), the bed (11) and our pillows (12). What followed was a blur of showers, bed changes, pillow hunts, soothing cuddles and a very tired mummy grateful that finally, at 1:30am the day was finally over!