So, today I had a pretty relaxing, laid back day. I thought I'd share my happiness in the moment by posting my day's activities on my Facebook page for all my friends to read. Perhaps they would share in my happy-go-lucky, aquarius like, splendor of a day...
Woke at 7, GMA, eggs and pancakes for breakfast. Crafts in pjs, lunch out with Wendy, then a two hour nap cuddled with my sweetie. Next, shopping, a nice run, then cooking dinner for the hubby. Maybe some vino.
Staying. home. rocks.
Staying. home. rocks.
Yeah, so I posted to the world how effing wonderful my day was, and how kick ass it felt to be able to stay home. Karma was laughing at me from across the room before he ran over and shanked me in the neck.
Michael went to sleep, and I was back on baby duty. Over the next TWO hours...
1: Kyle runs around laughing and trying to slap me. Repeatedly. In the face. Shit ain't funny.
2: I rock Kyle in his room in the dark, he jumps up and runs down the hall laughing at me.
3: I let him play, and he manages to get his fat little leg stuck in the coffee table railings, and screams murder until I untangle him.
4: Coke is spilt on the floor, leather couch, my blanket, and on him. This is the second diet coke spilt. Today.
5: I rush over to grab something from Kyle and stub my toe on the table leg. I let out a sweaty, white faced m*ther***** just low enough to hope that my son doesn't magically repeat it.
6. Kyle runs up to me on the floor, hugs me, and pukes all over my hair, shirt, and arm. This is no spit up. This is acid smelling, foul, puke. Then he rubs it in, sticks his hands in his mouth and rubs it all over my face before I can get him off of me. The towel I quickly grab to wipe my face with is covered in 409.
7. Kyle ran into the bathroom to play in the toilet water. And my face is on fire.
8. I try rocking Kyle again, and he runs away. Again.
9. I chase him, pick him up, proceed to tickle his fat thigh, and I get a hand full of shit. Shit.
10. I try to put him in his crib, he screams bloody murder for 15 minutes. I pick him up and see he's busted his upper lip on the (padded) crib railing from throwing his tantrum. Blood everywhere.
11. I finally rock him to sleep...at midnight. And, he WILL wake up at 6am. My child doesn't sleep.
12. I return to my laptop to see all my shit was totally erased when it died.
And I still have no bacon.
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