It's not as if I'm trying to do anything earth shattering. I just want to keep our house in decent shape, mail a few letters, and maybe poop alone.
Take Monday, for instance. After an epically scream-y day for Andrew, I was exhausted, but I had one goal: to rotate the area rug in our living room.
You see, last weekend, our dog Shadow peed on the one exposed spot where I play on the floor with Andrew. We cleaned it, but after 2 days in which the baby and I went to bed smelling like a mixture of Resolve, urine, wool, and despair, I couldn't take it any more.
I waited until Tim got home, and hoped that he, my visiting brother, and I could rotate the rug so that the stinky part was under the couch.
Then I saw Tim drag in after a long day at work, complaining of muscle or nerve pain in his rear. My brother limped in next, his long drive from WV having exacerbated his back and sciatic pain. I had thought of moving the couch myself during the day, while wearing the baby in a carrier, but my bum shoulders cried out in protest. We were falling apart. Once again, I realized this late-in-life parenting thing is no joke, and will probably require a whole lot of Advil and humility.
I decided to wait on the rug rotation. Instead we stood around talking about our ailments. I lent my brother my Tens machine, just like the ones used in physical therapy. And if letting your brother stick your personal sensor pads on his bare 50 year old ass isn't love, I don't know what is. His 5 year old step daughter kept trying to turn up the shock level. Too funny!
The rest of the week was much happier for Andrew, and Tim and I took care of the rug last night.
The to-do list is still long, but just look at this face:
