I wrote that on Monday morning.
Everything got crazy and I stopped typing. While making dinner that night, Lily stuck her hand in a can of olives, got it stuck and nearly sliced the pad off of her middle finger. While trying to wrap it, I passed out...the blood. Supper's still cooking on the stove, Norah's crawling around on the floor, there's blood all over the girl's bathroom sink, Lily's freaked the eff out, Eamon's trying to pin her to get the damn gauze on her hand, and I lay there trying to snap out of it and get up but I can't. I have a shoot in an hour. Everything calms down, Eamon gets Lily everything she needs at CVS, I regain consciousnesses, save supper, do my shoot [in a Motley crew tshirt and basketball shorts. gag.] come home.
Tuesday. La-dee-da. Get errands done, have make-up on and eyebrows plucked, didn't shave my legs, but who cares, feelin good about the day. Naptime comes, Lily wakes up an hour early. Crying. Slobbering, boogering, crying. Everything is "hug" "I okay, I know, I know" cry, cry, cry. I think , "Surely, dear Jesus who loves me and all the little children of the world, she can't cry all the way to Southlake, through dinner, and grocery shopping, LET'S GO!!" As we're driving the 30 mins to Southlake, the tears are still coming, the tweets are sounding more irritated, Norah's like "What the hell is wrong with sister? Who took her booby away?" and I'm starting to think...maybe she's not just throwing a fit. We get into Central Market, order [through Lily's sobbing] sit down, and wait, while Lily insists on being held by daddy, still sobbing. Food gets to our table and Eamon
orders me to suggests we get to go boxes and eat in the car. We do. Lily passes out in the car seat before we even leave the parking lot. Norah starts fussing. God hears me question His plan for my life and quietens her down. Eamon drops us all off at the house, Lily falls asleep in my arms, naked, watching Sesame Street. I wake her after feeling the drool on my arm [still an hour before bedtime] and she says "Mama, ni-night, fwees?" How could I say no. Pj's on, tucked in bed. As we're saying prayers Lily nods and "Yeth, mmmhhhmm"s to my desperate plee to Jesus in asking to break her gums and bring forth pearly whites. Norah and I play til daddy gets home. Dad's home, we're all pooped, Norah decided to play "Norah the Explorer" in our bed, gets some milk and finally goes to sleep.
The rest of the night was "waaAAAAAAHHHHH, MAMA!!!!"
*put shirt back on* "coming sweetie"
"I' hurts, mama, hurts!"
Lay in Lily's bed, get her to sleep, remember I have another baby back in my bed that will eventually need nursing.
Go back to my bed, hear the crying, see creepy baby figure in doorway, invite said creep figure into my bed, get woken up 30 mins by pain screaming, followed by puke.
Clean up, fall asleep, wake to screaming and "I be ri' back" from Lily. She does be ri' back, crying because she's tripping over the small selection of Linens & Things that she is carting into our room as she
prepares a tent for Jesus' homecoming gets her stuff in our bed.
Barf, rinse, repeat.
'Tis now Wednesday.
I've got a fire roaring in my belly and a sleep deprived brain that can't accurately articulate my thoughts. What do I do? Apparently let it spew all over the innocent bystanders of the internet with disregard to who it burns.
No pictures today folks. Just a poop stain on the carpet, a baby with a finger condom and a rambling, half insane mama.