No, I’m not sleeping well. How about you?

I remember when the Webmaster and I were first married, our apartment complex had something they called “quiet hours.” Between 10 pm and 6 am, they asked you to kindly please not run your dishwasher/do your laundry (we had a washer and dryer in our unit, as did most everyone else)/vacuum/let your car alarm malfunction (this happened TWICE to the people across the hall from us and woke up everyone in our building, because we thought it was the fire alarm)/have screaming matches with your boyfriend who then tries to kick your door down when you lock him out (this happened to the next person who moved in across the hall from us. We always had interesting neighbors. We called the police on them).

Anyway, when the Webmaster and I finally moved into our house and no longer had those rules, it felt strangely liberating. I could now run the dishwasher before I went to bed and wake up to clean dishes! It was very exhilarating for a young housewife, let me tell you.

Right now, if we were still living under that “quiet hours” rule, we would be up to our necks in laundry by morning and buying large quantities of – and stock in – Febreze and Lysol.

The Munchkin’s tummy bug continues to run its course. Tad is completely healthy now, and proved it by climbing onto the kitchen table this morning via a chair, and washing his hands in my coffee (which was lukewarm at that point, but made a mess regardless). The biggest problem is that the Munchkin’s digestive system has always been a delicate balance for us. It was so much easier when she ate anything we put in her mouth. Now we can’t get her to eat anything that would actually help for more than a few bites. As a result, we’re not beating the diarrhea as fast as we did with Tad.

The biggest problem is nighttime. Even with the diarrhea, she has proved that she really is fully potty trained by being able to make it nearly every time to the bathroom. We’ve had a few accidents, but they’ve been fairly small. At night, she has no control and as a result, well… let’s just say that two days ago, at 2 am, she walked out of her room and into ours (I was still up – don’t ask), said, “Mommy?” and pointed to her obviously soiled butt. And by that point, this was not an uncommon occurance.

The Webmaster gets washing-up duty. He has given baths at 2 am, or, yesterday, a sponge bath at 4:45 am. Meanwhile, the poor Munchkin just looks at him and says, “I just want to go back to sleep, Daddy,” but she can’t sleep in the state that she’s in.

I get bed-stripping and laundry duty. I go on a search-and-destroy mission for anything that has been contaminated, put it all in a basket and head off to start a load of laundry. This also includes the Munchkin’s pajamas. I spray everything liberally with Shout, and then crank up the washer. Her comforter is so thick and fluffy that it has to be washed separately in its own load, and I have washed it twice this week. TWICE. We have gone through two sets of sheets in a single night. And you wondered why my blogging was so light! I then have to remake the bed so that it is ready by the time the Webmaster gets the Munchkin washed, dried, and in clean pajamas. She is so wiped out that she literally is asleep when we tuck her in. Her parents feel pretty much the same way.

The Webmaster was trying to tell his new co-workers why he’s been so exhausted (“My daughter’s been sick and has exploding poop issues”), and being married, he is in the minority at this new company (which is small), and one of a handful of people who are actually parents. “Dude, you’re not making this parenting thing sound very appealing,” one of his single guy co-workers said to him.

Yes, this is the unglamorous side of parenthood. When your child’s excrement turns to liquid, it’s not a pretty sight. And yet, we’ve all been there. And if you haven’t yet, one day you will be here. Trust me.

This is why I posted a single picture yesterday. I am beat. And the Munchkin will not eat, which is driving me insane. Her best meal is lunch, when all she wants is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but I don’t mind that, because she’ll actually eat it. I have lost count of the number of bananas she’s taken a single bite out of, and then declared, “No, I can’t like this,” after begging me for one. (Yes, she does like bananas, but they have to be handed to her whole and in the peel. She will not eat a broken banana, and neither will she eat a part of what I cut up for Tad.) Tad, in the meantime, is matching her bite for bite and more. Example: I made pancakes for dinner last night in the hopes of tempting her appetite. We all know how much she loves pancakes. She ate half of one and three bites out of a banana, plus about a half a cup of milk. Tad ate two whole pancakes and a whole banana, and nearly a full sippy cup of milk. Did I mention that he’s completely healthy now?

Moral of the story: You can lead a toddler to food, but you can’t make them eat. Also: She who has clean sheets in the linen closet and a full bottle of Dreft at 2 am is a wise mother.

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 9th, 2006 at 2:47 am and is filed under Children, Mommyhood.
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