It’s been a rough day at Casa Snort. Some days are naturally better than others, but fuck me running—today was a humdinger.
I have PMS. Let’s mention that to start with.
Footlong hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said today. I realize that I, too, had selective hearing as a child, and it is so frustrating when my words go in one of his dirty ears and out the other.
6-inch took a tumble while pushing his ride-on Lightning McQueen car down the hall. He was doing that thing where he is crying so hard that no sound is coming out—all you see is a chubby red face and a wide open mouth. Before I could get to him he tumbled over backward and his the back of his head on the door. After what seemed like an eternity he finally let go a massive scream. I wish he could talk and tell me, “Mama, I bumped my head,” or “Mama, my leg really hurts.” I checked him over and gave him lots of lovies and cuddles. It looks like he has a bump on his noggin. As I type this he is happy and crawling/cruising around the house playing with toys.
I got splattered with oil while cooking dinner, and Footlong has informed me in no uncertain terms that what I made looks disgusting and he will not eat it.
My house is clean (relatively speaking) but is really cluttered with toys, baby clothes that need to be organized and donated, and assorted dishes/socks/books/magazines are strewn about. It seems so overwhelming some days. I did some laundry, folded and put away towels, and cleaned some in my bedroom. That was all I could muster.
I’m having one of those whiny, self-indulgent “I want to be anywhere but here” kind of days. Feel free to judge me now.