i feel like a drug dealer

this was a loooonnnnnggggg day.  it started with me waking up from a horrendous nightmare (i will spare you the details) at 5am to a daughter sleeping in her bassinet with her damn cannula on TOP of her nose instead of in it.  i had a picture to show you of her and her cannula, but wordpress decided to bust my balls and have an error on the image page. i guess ill have to try that again later.  anyway, after that dreadful nightmare i decided i might ought to just get up for good even though it was 5. little handsy mcdrew tugging at her nasal cannula while i was peacefully slumbering quietly suffering wasn’t really helping with my relaxation.  somehow i got clara tucked back into her straight jacket swaddle as was able to go back to sleep for an hour and a half-ish.  and that is when i woke up to fire truck sirens in the next room.  about 2 seconds after i heard the fire sirens start, a firefighter carrying a small wailing labrador busted through my bedroom door.  i turned around to see what was going on to realize that a) it wasn’t a fire truck siren.  it was my son losing his damn mind and b) it wasn’t a firefighter busting through my door. it was my husband already exasperated at the wailing coming from the sleep terrorist that he was carrying.   and i was hoping that my day would improve from my 5 am wakeup.  aw, hellllllssss naw.

the day did not improve.  as a matter of a fact, it went rapidly downhill.  i glanced into my sons mouth at breakfast and realized that he is getting 4, yes ALL 4 of his canine teeth at once.  if you think a teething baby is bad, try a quadruple dose of teething toddler.  not only is he in pain and pissed about it, but he is mobile and can make poor tickle me elmo feel his rath.  poor tickle me elmo.  how much do you think it cost for sutffed animal therapy? im pretty sure i owe it to eh-mo to let him see a therapist to talk it out. 

in addition to the teething terrorist (artist formerly known as sleep terrorist) screaming at the top of his lungs a better part of the day, i determined yesterday that sister has a milk allergy.  damn you bessie.  damn you.  i recently uped my iced caramel latte intake as a survival strategy, but in a cruel twist of fate it turns out that uping my milk intake gives my daughter brutal gas.   sure, because i am super mature its hilarious when something so loud and startling comes out of something so small the first couple times.  after a few rocket blasts i realized that she was in serious pain.  also, she started crying hysterically which tipped me off.  i stopped my milk intake immediately, but her stomach hasn’t quite recovered from the milk od ive been subjecting her to since sunday.  so, she cried.  and she cried and she cried.  and then she cried some more.  (also, at some point today jack beamed her over the head with a large plastic boat and she unleashed the crying beast).  so, one guy is crying and one gal is crying.  the most awesome part of it all is that they also like to set each other off.  one starts crying and the other one joins in the symphony for no other reason than just to give their ma a hard time. 

so, like any good mother who is at her wits end, i look to the medicine cabinet for treatments.  motrin for the boy, mylicon for the girl.  but you can’t stop at one dose.  oh, no.  no you can’t.  you have to keep it coming because you absolutely do NOT want to relapse into the horror that was before the medicine.   i stared at the clock all day.  i didn’t want to go over the next dose by one single minute for fear that things would start back up again.  don’t get me wrong… the crying didn’t stop because of the medicine.  we still had a rough day but at least there were brief moments of figurative butterflies and running through fields with my golden flax haired children that made me remember why i decided to be a full-time sahm.  besides, today i would have been too embarrassed to let my son go to daycare.  at least when i am at home with him i am the only one subjected to his bouts with crazy.  all i can say is THANK GOD that we don’t remember teething, or baby gas, or getting bonked over the head with our siblings toys.  it’s hard to be a baby.

oh please oh please oh please oh please Lord please let my child’s teeth come in quickly and if i swear to never ever drink milk, eat cheese, eat ice cream (*slight crossing of the fingers behind my back*), or consume any kind of dairy outside rational amounts used for cooking will you please let Clara’s tummy not hurt?  oh and world peace.  amen.

 

yeah, here is that pic from earlier.  thanks for making it be out of context now wordpress.  thanks a lot.

annie get your cannula on

**edit: i just spell checked this to make sure i don’t look like an ex-english major assclown.  wordpress spell check doesnt recognize wordpress as a word.  say what?**

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