Somedays, like last Thursday, I put my feet on the coffee table and think, "this stay-at-home-mom thing isn't so hard". Dinner is in the oven, I just put my third load of laundry in the dryer, and Rory is taking her second hour plus nap of the day. I've totally got this.
Fast forward five days.
Rory is back to taking 30 minute naps. I forgot to thaw the chicken for tonight's dinner, and because the thought of washing Rory's diapers makes me want to go to sleep and never wake up, she is in her third disposable of the day. So, I put my head on the coffee table and think, "this is the hardest job I have ever had".
My forehead touches something cold, wet and slimy. I look at my sleeve and realize it's full of spit up. How long has that been there? I don't even remember her spitting up.
I gather the strength to get up and find a burp cloth. As I stand up, I notice something on my pants. Upon closer examination, I realize that "something" is dried poop. I won't even tell you how many hours had passed since she pooped. Sigh.
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