It’s been a day. A sunshiny beautiful blue-sky day with zero playing outdoors. We didn’t even set foot outside.
Now, I first want to say that I feel for my little love. He’s sick and he’s scared. He’s had a worse day by far than I have. But I need to whine. Indulge me?
This was supposed to be MY day. I had the day off work, Cameron’s daycare was open. I saw myself getting dishes under control, laundry done, maybe a bit of exercise, and a bubble bath in the afternoon. Or maybe a little shopping where I didn’t have to chase Cameron everywhere and hold the changeroom curtain closed while half-naked, trying to keep him from flinging it open.
Instead I had to deal with projectile vomit, constant whining and why-ing, and a little love who did not understand why I wouldn’t let him just guzzle a whole cup of water. It was a horrible day of denying my Cameron what he wanted, what he thought would make him feel better. Sips of water every ten minutes, no food for two hours after vomiting. Which meant hours of “I want more! Why mommy? I want more! I’m thirsty, I want more Mommy! More, mommy! More? More? Please, Mommy?”
And now the apartment is in worse shape. Two loads worth of pukey laundry. That’s not including the puke-covered car seat that’s still out (I assume) on the veranda where I left it last night. Two bowls of oatmeal from two attempts. Puke-splattered shoes in the bathroom sink. We’re out of juice and milk. I haven’t touched dishes. And I’m not gonna do them tonight – I’m going to just herd the messes into the kitchen, and ignore that room while I have a bath and go to bed.