Only in my life

When it rains, it pours!! Why me!?! Of course .. WHY NOT!? There are a plethora of sayings that apply to you when you are having one Hellova day or two. I think mine went a tad like this, “*#^&@(@*(T^Y&*$U(T*&*#(“ Period. Let me explain:

Sunday morning seemed like a normal event. Griffin called for his bottle around 5:30am. He wakes back up at 6:30 and I thought “forget it, he just ate!” for he usually will sleep in until 8:00. True to form around 8:30am he wakes up and Nathan decides it’s his turn to get up and let me sleep. All I hear over the monitor is *door opening* “Ohhhhh. Nooooo.” My response? Shut the monitor off and turn back over. So I’ll tell the story through his eyes:

Everything’s fine. Griffin’s awake and sounds happy on the monitor, no distressed baby or anything to warrant a need for bracing when opening door. Reach for door handle, turn, and it was as if the seal of a casket had been broken open; a casket bearing a decomposing body for the last 83 days in the New Orleans summer … PFSHHHHHHHHHH. The vile smell hits his unprepared nostrils like the unassuming fly disintegrating on the 893mph windshield shrieking right for him (enter “Ohhh Noooo.”). As his eyes adjust to the cave-like darkness that surrounds, it finally reveals a beaming baby standing in his crib. He appears to resemble the drunken mother from What About Mary, smiling so big it seems unnatural. His hair is in straight-up Mohawk fashion so high and straight you’d think that 348 cans of Aqua Net was involved. But no. The true culprit is a mixture of milk curds and partially digested peaches from the day before. Yep. Vomit. And lots of it. Having been tossed previously, the creature beaming weirdly at you had rolled, danced, and fallen back asleep in the tossed salad. The day goes by fine until that evening...

10:30pm Griffin is up.
11:00pm Griffin is up again.
12:00am Maysen is up “My ear hurts”
1:30m Griffin is up again – gets Tylenol.
2:00am Maysen is up again with ear – gets Motrin. I look with my otoscope, ear appears inflamed.
6:00am Griffin is up. Check his ears. Too waxy to view ear drum. Goes back to sleep.
8:00am We’re up. Fin has piece of bread, which he throws up, along with suspicious milk curds on the floor.
10:00am Maysen complains of ear again. Otoscope now reveals infection in L ear of Maysen. Dr appts are made for both boys with our old pediatrician.

1:45pm: Griffin must get up from nap. Hand on the door. Knob turns and immediately the rotting flesh odor consumes me, but this is more of an odor of dead pig carcass roasting away in Nigeria for a week. It singes my nose hairs immediately causing a fury of watering eyes and gagging. Ahhh, diarrhea. Just what I’m prepared for considering I need to be walking out of my house RIGHT.NOW! Now, what happened next could actually be a pretty good marketing tool for Huggies, had it not been putrid. I know this won’t be pretty so I just rip the diaper off and brace for impact. I am absolutely amazed at the built-in dams Huggies has created has actually held in the cement-mixer-like diarrhea that came shooting out. I know you’re dying for visual color, so we’ll go split pea soup with hint of mustard – and that consistency as well. Got that one? Yummy. I stood there frozen – like a tight rope walker who needs to poop – wondering just what to do. Any sudden movements could end this whole ordeal badly. And then it happens. The Back Arch, then foot-plant action. Rrrrrrrrrigggght. Now he's looking like a white African baby covered in war paint. Somehow we recovered with lots of prayers to whomever would listen, running out the door as quickly as we could.

Now. “There’s more!?” you might be asking. Ohhhh yes. In my life, there’s always more. You see, we left the house in such a hurry, the bounty diaper was left folded up on Fin’s dresser. And as we returned home from the doctors and then the joyful wait at the pharmacy (both boys have ear infections), I walk in my house and I am thrown into a realm of confusion because I again smell the rotting flesh. You see, I happen to have a Beast-like animal who roams my hallways. Her name is Bailey. And as she saw me leave through the dark and dampened laundry room door and shut it with such force I would not be returning anytime soon, she immediately started salivating. She does this because she knows, to my dismay, that I have inadvertently left this … "treat" of sorts, for lack of better wording … within her grasp. And you know the rest. She took no time in devouring the contents of that poop-filled bundle of joy with savage-like agility. All. Over. My. Living Room. Floor.

I hope none of you read this while eating Split Pea Soup. Good Day.