Shit Happened Alright

Well let me tell you, when I wore my “Make Shit Happen” shirt, the things to come, are not quite the type of “shit”, I imagined.

None the less, all the shit happened. All of it.

Let’s start with this morning. Started off as a quiet and enjoyable surprise for Mya. I took her to get her favorite Maple Bacon Roll. (My favorite too.) Then I got her to school, where I surprised her by staying for her Field Trip to the MLC Play. (It was great by the way.)

Oh, that’s where the shit started to happen. Towards the end of the show, Mya’s sweatshirt slipped between the chair. I went to reach for it, and a wack. Right on my noggin. Instant swelling and headache, some light coloring as of now. Seriously.

Honestly, was I surprised? Pretty much, nope. Let me just go about my day with a self induced concussion. And if that doesn’t perfectly explain my life. (Face Palm)

Fast forward to picking up Charlie for his appointment. Getting out of town currently is a shit show in itself. At least from where we live, to where daycare is located, to the actual exit, on the complete opposite end of town. I underestimated the amount of time this would take and felt late most the drive.

I realized I wasn’t late, until I was. We hit the cities stoppage of road construction, that wasn’t even started yet, but blocked off. That seriously, DID. NOT. MOVE. This is not usually a problem we run into getting to appointments on this route. But why not get stopped with 13 minutes to park and run through 3 buildings and 2 sky ways, with 2 exits to go until you even get to that point. Seems totally doable while carrying a toddler who’s still half asleep. NOT.

We made it 5 minutes late. Which obviously meant we never stopped to use the bathroom. I was forcing myself to hold it. But ya know, 5 minutes in, Charlie couldn’t anymore. So off we went. We came back. And give it another 15 or so, guess who has to poop? Oh look, more shit. (See what I did there.) It has been, historically, without fail, that during this appointment, Charlie has to poop. Every. Single. Time.

We finish up the appointment and we head on our way. He asks to watch TV while I drive, I pull out the iPad and pop on Netflix for him. He wants to pick himself. 3 different times! Fine, whatever. You deserve Netflix and Chill time just like everyone else.

We get just to where we want to merge onto 169, when he starts to have an asthma attack. I’m literally trapped between all lanes of traffic and I can not get to him. The one brilliant thing I did was remove the iPad from his lap. Wait for it…

He continues to cough. I rub his leg and he sadly cries, “I want you Mommy.” And I want so badly to give him his inhaler, hold him, unbuckle him, anything. But I am not anywhere near the side of the road to pull over. And then, were you waiting for it? He proceeds to vomit. All. Over. Himself.

Shit. I still am in no place to pull over. But Lord knows this Mama can find an exit for a Target. Because clearly the child needs to be changed. The car seat can not survive another hour and a half home. And we are both mortified at the smell now smoldering in the back seat. Well Hello Target.

In the Target parking lot, I proceed to undress my child. What we have for extras is a pair of shorts, well good thing the snow has stopped, because that’s what you’re going to wear. I change his t-shirt. And off we go for a new car seat. And an extra change of clothes, incase, Lord help me, we are met with this epic disaster for a second time on the way home.

Alright so we go up a step in sizes. Not going to waste money I already feel I’m wasting on the same size seat. This one is meant for toddlers and fits his height and weight. On sale, bonus.

Get to the parking lot. I stick him in the front seat for a moment. I proceed to pull the bag off of the new car seat. Throw the vomit covered one in it, clothes, wipes, everything, into the back. There is vomit, on my seat. And the leather seat option I compromised on is now obviously painful. Well here, let me just use a baby wipe, they solve all problems.

Ok, so the new car seat comes in two pieces. How hard can this be. I’ve installed tons of car seats in my day. Well, it’s hard. Especially when you are fuming in a Target parking lot, smelling vomit, and there is wind. Oh, and your toddler is trying to help and has hopped into the back seat, after attempting to drive the car.

Now that I’ve basically sat and jumped on these two pieces, I think they’re together. How can this even be safe? Who invents this insanity? Whatever, on with getting it in the car. I have small arms, normally this is easy peasy. Well let me tell you, I could not reach even half my hand to slip that seat belt through the back. I now find myself wishing I was Captain Hook, the hook would’ve fit in the damn seat. Anyways, after some finagling we are in. We are secure, on our way.

Oh, but that is not the end. We will now be forced to freeze the entire way home. Because, if you turn off the air you will inevitably die from the smell. Yes, I tested it. We had to stop and get out for air.

And this was the day, shit happened.

I Got Up

You needed to go to the bathroom. Something you believe, only I, the great and all powerful queen of potty time, am able to help you with. So I got up.

I helped with your pants. I put your special Paw Patrol chair on the toilet. I lifted you on. And I sat down.

I heard you grunting. I asked if you were pooping. You said, “no, I went pee”. Then I heard you stumble off the toilet, as you do every time. There was fumbling. Dad tried to help and you slammed the door in his face, while saying, “leave me alone!” He is not the great and all powerful queen of potty time, so he can’t help.

Within seconds you yelled, “mommy help me”. So I got up.

You insisted you needed a bath because you pooped. (Even though you told me 15 seconds earlier that you didn’t.) I told you no (dude it’s 9:45pm) and wiped your butt. You cried when I asked you to put your clothes on. A task you then insisted on doing yourself. So I sat down.

Seconds later you cried for me. So I got up.

You were sitting on the bathroom floor, a hot mess now. (I am also the queen of hot messes.) I asked how you got shit on the rug, for the 3rd time this week. I swear it wasn’t there 10 seconds ago. I rolled up the rug, checked your underwear that you also had poop on, and I threw them down the laundry shoot in your room. While there, I grabbed you more underwear. I asked you to put on jammies. You said no and insisted on your clothes again. Refusing my help. I left you to it. And I sat down.

Shortly after, I heard you bang your head on the floor as you got upset. I got up.

You couldn’t get your underwear on. I slid them on you. One tiny leg at a time. And I sat down.

You came from the bathroom now, clothes in hand. They were inside out and backwards. You were frustrated. You handed them to me and now you admitted you needed my help. I am also the great and all powerful mommy queen of getting dressed. So I got up.

I arranged your clothes and I put them on you. Even though I still felt you should put on your jammies. I choose my battles, and that wasn’t one I wanted to fight. I save most of my fighting battles for our night time rendezvous at 1, 2, 3, and well all the a.m. times. Because I am also the nocturnal mommy queen. And then I sat down.

Much past your bed time now, whatever time that might actually be. Lord knows you don’t have a real one. You asked for a snack. I said no. (Dude it’s after 10pm.) And you cried.

But this time, you got up. You crawled your tiny, little body of tears, onto my lap. And you sat down. Folding warmly into my body, like only my child could. You gave me soft, gentle kisses. Over and over kisses. And within seconds you fell asleep. Heavily breathing on my chest. In and out. Comfortable and safe. In the securest of places. I am most importantly, Mommy Queen of whatever the opposite of separation anxiety is. I am your go to, I am your safe place. I am Mommy.

And that, is why I got up. That is why, I will always get up.