Train Wreck

My child has had diarrhea since Sunday. Third bout since November. This one I believe is food related. No matter the cause, I am up to my elbows in dirty diapers, bananas, rice, applesauce, toast, and mommy misery. I carried her straight from her crib to the bathtub and put her in with her dirty socks still on. She screamed at first and then proceeded to try to capture all the poop flakes that were now floating around in the tub.

When I was changing her diaper yesterday for the 6,295th time, my nose started bleeding. I grabbed a Pampers wipe, shoved it up my nose, and continued to diaper her. Claire reached over as she was lying down, grabbed a wipe, and tried to shove it up her own nose.

On Monday night I laid down to watch House. House is my favorite show. Do I even need to tell anyone? With 12 minutes left (it was 8:48 p.m. yes, I remember the time), my one-week old cable mysteriously flipped the Fox channel to the CW channel. CW is channel 14, Fox is 15. So at that point BOTH 14 AND 15 were now CW, and both had no audio. So with 12 minutes left in a new House episode, I was left watching Gossip Girls. Soundless.

Claire's dad came up to watch her yesterday around noon so I could go into work. Bangs that I trimmed in one awkward cut of the scissors hung in spikes on my forehead. No two ends of my hair came together because they're split up to the scalp. No hopes of a haircut until at least next week. 8 months without a haircut. I keep trying to unzip this fat suit off of me, but then I realize it's not a suit. It's just me. Sweatpants are not on the dress code at my office. Jerks.

On my way home from work, I stopped at the grocery store to restock on banana puree and saltines. I decided I needed a tub of sugar cookies, my drug of choice. It was pouring rain as I walked a mile across the parking lot to my car. My hands were full of heavy bags (laundry detergent weighs 87 tons), and my car keys were lodged in my coat pocket. I tried to shift the bags, and that's when the bag with the cookies slipped from my hand, hit the ground, and the tub of cookies broke open and cookies went flying across the wet parking lot.

I picked those damn cookies up and ATE THEM ANYWAY. Yeah, you heard me.

I got Claire ready for daycare this morning. I offered her a post-dated check for $1,000 if she could make it through daycare today w/o explosive poop (check is post-dated for September 2056). I prepared all food for daycare today (and by prepared I mean put saltines in a bag and wrote her name on a cup of applesauce) and hauled her out to the car. I stopped in a shopping plaza parking lot that's right across from daycare and jumped out, opened her door, and did a sniff test, ready to change her diaper so daycare wouldn't suspect she still may have the runs.

After this exhausting project, I stopped at Starbucks to get a soy chai and a buzz-inducing pastry. I got out of the car, started to walk toward the door, and realized I forgot my purse at home. By this time, my hair was matted down to my head, and I came to the conclusion that I probably looked more attractive in my 8th grade picture, the one with the puffy sleeved sweater, my over-moussed mullet, and me in braces.

At work, I sat down with a piece of coffee cake my boss brought in two days ago and a cup of the free cocoa they still offer here. As I sat down, my nose started bleeding profusely. I grab what ends up being the last tissue in my box of 250. I am left to use the brown sandpaper recession napkins in the work kitchenette.

Hi, I don't like this camp anymore and want to leave. Then I realize, I'm the director of this camp. Ugh. I need a s'more.