My eyes aren't even open yet. And Penny is howling from the kitchen like someone is hurting her.
I try to block it out, but know that I can't move. If she hears me move, the howling will get louder. So I lay there, on my back, eyes screw closed, willing her to shut the fuck up and not wake the ba--
I open my eyes and try to grind the sleep out. I am so tired I ached down into my bones. And it's like those two are having a competitions, who can sound more pathetic. It's tied.
I stumble into the baby's room greeted by smiles and my munchkin jumping up and down in her crib. It's sweet until I see the huge crap stain on the sheet and know that her diaper exploded, again, during the night (don't give me that line about going up a size, she's wearing a size six. SIX. for babies over 37 pounds.)
So I wrestle the spastically happy morning child onto the changing table and use no less than 30 wipes to try and de-poop the child. In the process it smears on my arm, her foot, she smears her foot ON the changing pad, which now with the sheets I have to wash today. So I have to get her dressed on the floor. And she tries crawling away, I have to pull her back to me about six times.
I have to pee really badly.
And the dog is STILL howling.
And now the cats woken up and prances into the room and yowls.
"You there! Human! Feed me! I don't care if you are literally covered in shit! Deliver me food!"
I get her dressed and take her with me into the bathroom to do my business so I can watch and pee at the same time. She combs the carpet with my hairbrush.
The cat wanders in to try and jump on my lap and yowl.
Except he misses and rips open my thigh.
And the dos is STILL howling.
I get the baby downstairs (slapping the dog in the process) and strap her into her chair. I open the fridge and see I will have to buy milk before this weekend.
I will use a wic che--do I have a wic appointment today?
Where's my wic folder?
*disclaimer* I loose this fucking folder ALL THE TIME. I TRY to put it in the same place, it gets moved. It falls behind furniture on the floor. Todd tried to help by putting it in the bill rack, but it is, in fact the OLD folder. So I spend 10 minutes TEARING through my house trying to find this fucking folder so I can figure out if I have an appointment today. (you can substitute "did I send in my student loan papers?" or any other time sensitive chore you like here)
Find it. Nope. Thursday.
I let the dogs out. It's raining. They refuse to budge from the porch. And howl to let me know this.
The cat tries leaping up on the counter to help with his yowling process, I smack him down.
I open a cup of mandarin oranges for the young one and she starts wolfing happily, while simultaneously yowling like that cat. She's having fun.
My left eye starts to vibrate.
I feed the dogs and then let them in, they growl and snap at each other as they run in opposite directions towards their food dishes.
I look up and the cat is on the baby's high chair table eating her oranges.
I use all the willpower I have NOT to stab it to death. Instead I chuck it physically from the room while screaming in tongues.
The baby looks at me and shakes her finger and says "No no!"
"That's right, bad kitty."
Gator flips his now empty dish over in fury because it's empty and grunts at me.
I fill Charlotte's bottle with milk, unlatch her and drag her into the living room while she babbles at a volume level of 156 about "deekles" and "flurmies". I turn on PBS and collapse in this computer chair.
I'm starving and yet completely lack any energy to get up and make myself food. My left ass check is a center of pain which means my sciatica is acting up. AGAIN. My bones ACHE. I'm getting a migraine. And I have more house cleaning and a trip to Rochester to make today.
So now you understand why I'm not usually a fucking ray of sunshine first thing in the am.