The scene: Husband (Very Helpful Husband) is out of town unexpectedly. Ten people are coming to your house for a candle party tomorrow night. House is a mess. You are feeling every bit like you’re in the first trimester of pregnancy because- HEY! Guess what! You are! Long day of work. Headed to pick up your toddler at daycare and then headed to your parents’ house because you are not above letting someone feed you and watch your kid while you lay on the couch and drool.
Kid has hurt her foot playing Ring Around The Rosies at school. For the rest of the night, she is hesitant to walk on it and occasionally whispers ‘OUCH!’ while playing. It doesn’t look bruised or swollen. Two hours after going to bed (and just TWENTY MINUTES after you fall asleep) your kid wakes up sobbing and screaming about her foot hurting. After 30 minutes of trying to calm her down, you give up and head downstairs to watch Finding Nemo. The XBox (which is also the DVD player) controller has dead batteries (OF COURSE) so you spend the next moments frantically searching in the dark for batteries. Finally you borrow some from the remote, but not until after your kid works herself into such a frenzy because Nemo isn’t starting yet that you fear she may throw up. And you are nauseous and exhausted and your Puke-Cleaner-Upper is hours away. And you’re pretty sure Grandma wouldn’t appreciate a midnight phone call to clean up puke from TWO of her girls.
At 1am, you finally convince the kid to go back to bed. The next morning, she’s still favoring her foot and sometimes refuses to walk on it. Call your mom (I WANT MY MOMMMMYYY), decide to head to urgent care. Since you’re knocked up, you need someone to come along in case x-rays are needed because no way is your 2 year old going to do it alone. Grandma agrees to come along.
Shower while the kid plays in her room. While you’re getting dressed, she hobbles in, crying about her foot. HER OTHER FOOT. There’s blood on her sock. An investigation leads to a discovery of a teeny tiny puncture on her big toe. You ask what happened. “I stepped on da ICE!” ICE? What the-? “What ice?” “From da pit-cher!”
A picture frame. Glass. Broken. Stepped in. Good Lord. Band-aid. Wrong one. Must be Jasmine. Band-aid is ‘boddering’ her toe. WHINE AND CRY. Take it off, sock back on. Head to urgent care. Pretty sure your kid is trying to KILL YOU.
X-rays are all clear, many princess stickers are received, instructions for Motrin and rest. Doctor doesn’t notice her other toe, child services is not called. Thankful.
Home for lunch. Nap. House is STILL a wreck, people coming in less than 7 hours. Force yourself to lay on the couch because if you don’t rest now, you will pay for it later. Momentarily regret planning this candle party, even though when you scheduled it, you had no idea you were pregnant. Mom comes over early to help- shovels snow, sweeps floors, is Goddess. Throw some food together, get dressed, hair looks halfway presentable. Party is fun, lots of laughs and wine is consumed (not by you, of course. Preggo.)
That night, your kid suddenly decides that she can’t fall asleep unless you are sitting on the floor next to her bed. It’s probably your fault since it’s nearly 11pm and you two were both partying too late. She’s not even LOOKING IN YOUR DIRECTION, nor does she want you to touch her, hold her hand, or sing to her, but if you try to leave, she grabs your arm and cries, “I NEEEEED YOUUUU!” You sit on the floor for an hour until she passes out. Repeat at 5am.
Sunday is a blur. Husband returns home for 12 hours before he leaves again in the morning for a 4-day work trip. He’s exhausted from his weekend, you’re exhausted from yours, you feel guilty for throwing the kid at him the moment he walks in. You cry while he’s upstairs calming down your child who AGAIN IS CALLING FOR MOMMY TO SIT ON THE FLOOR WHILE SHE FALLS ASLEEP. Feel like a crappy mom, all the while knowing that it’s the hormones and exhaustion making your mind crazy.
Pass out in bed at 9pm. Monday comes. You can do this. It’s only four days, right? (Except he’s leaving AGAIN next week for 3 days. But let’s not think about that now, mm-kay?)
Consider the ramifications of blogging about Husband being out of town. Hi Stalkers and Bad People! I’m hormonal and pregnant, you probably don’t want to come mess with me. Plus, I might have a gun. (I don’t.) (OR MAYBE I DO.)
Today is better. Productive work day. You eat chicken nuggets for dinner with your kid in the kitchen while watching Barbie Swan Lake. She dances, you smile. She goes to bed (seemingly) without incident. You have Gilmore Girls on the DVR, only slightly nauseous tonight.
Things are looking up.
You can do this.