Well, we had another not much sleep night last night, and twice now when I have not administered the meds myself (and tried to let Tom handle it) he's overmedicated himself. Luckily, nothing he's taking has any super serious consequences for taking meds a tiny bit more frequently than he should, but it just proves I can't count on a good night's sleep any time soon.
We've been blessed to have Eve with us in the evenings and morning, but family has taken her for fun and adventure during the day since her sleep over ended on Friday. We miss her when she's gone, but her current stage in life, as well as her reaction to the upheaval around here, is making me kind of crazy. I don't feel like a nice mom, and seem to have a lot more patience for her when she's here less, and not so bored.
I find myself using my moments of less demand not crafting (as I really should be if I'm going to tackle that huge list I made) or reading, but rather surfing the net. I don't have energy for much else, even with a lot of cola in me. In a moment of quiet then, I have a chance to share a very funny story with you. This took place on Christmas Eve, and I'd nearly forgotten about it. I was reminded after reading a few friend's blogs about potty training and Elimination Communication.
We spend all our time (almost) down stairs these days, as that's where the wood stove is, and our main (and often only) source of heat. (Here I'll interject that this is my least favorite chore that I've taken over from Tom. I'm simply not a fire builder.) Hence, I change Israel on a receiving blanket on the couch. Since it was Christmas Eve he was dressed in his Christmas PJs, to look charming in pictures. Peanut only poops every 3 days or so, and as luck would have it, Christmas Eve was one of those days. As I changed him, carefully pushing his outfit far up and out of the way, I realized it wasn't too big a deal and set about cleaning him up.
I'm one of those who's never learned the lesson of putting the new diaper under the baby before you take the old one off. I guess I've just not had it be that much of a problem. Well, this time, it was a problem. Just as I was unfolding the last bit of the diaper to slide it under him, his ankles in one hand, I saw the face, heard the grunt, and watched in slow-motion horror as a new kind of "golden arch" arced its way through the air, with a trajectory ending just beyond the protective blanket. Now, I don't love my couch or anything. It's really pretty shabby and not my style, but it'll do, and I certainly don't want to be cleaning baby poop out of every little loop and crevice in the fabric. And so, I re-defined the Elimination Communication idea of "catching a poop" and stood in stunned disbelief as my son defecated all over my hand.
I won't describe for you the texture. After working on it for 3 days, Peanut's poop is not the normal baby poop texture, and anything I try to compare it to will simply reduce your enjoyment of some current culinary delight or another. Trust me on this one.
So. There I am, Christmas Eve. Tom's upstairs putting Eve to bed for the umteenth time. Don't feel sorry for him. He was the genius who decided to talk up Santa coming to visit the hour before Bed. I'm holding Israel's feet in one hand, and an unspeakable mess in the other. I can't let go for several reasons: If I do, he may manage to get poop on his Christmas PJs, or he may just roll right off the couch, and then we're talking a crying, messy baby and carpets to clean. I could grab more wipes, but I don't think they could have helped me.
As I was contemplating, puzzling, reaching into the dark recesses of creativity for a solution...he did it again. I was slightly more prepared and grabbed the end of the blanket and the half-applied, recently soiled new diaper to catch with. As clever as that may sound, I was in even more trouble now, as the poop quickly began seeping through the blanket, and there was even more poop in the proximity of the PJs.
I less determined person might have conceded and given up on keeping the PJs pristine, but that's just not me. It's a tradition to have special Christmas morning PJs for special Christmas morning pictures. I'm not going to let a little baby poop get in the way of tradition.
So I stood there like that for about 5 minutes, calling to Tom, making Peanut laugh, and laughing myself at the absurdity of it all. I did clean Peanut up, but he was still surrounded by his own waste, and I still couldn't get away to wash my hands. I wasn't calling Tom very loudly, so he moseyed down when he was ready and looked at me like I was crazy.
After all was said and done, Peanut looking smashing in his clean, sparkly Christmas PJs, and I learned that though essentially water soluble, Peanut's particular brand of baby poop does not wash off easily with soap and warm water.
One last thing. Tonight, when Eve was sitting with us and calming down a few moments before I took her to bed, I kissed her and told her I loved her, she responded by holding my hair with both hands, and saying, "I love you too, my sweet darling." Be still my heart. It was so cute and sweet. I just love her!
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