Me: "Who has the best seat in the house, me or daddy?"

Adam: "Well, Daddy's is nice, but yours is best. Your's is squishier."

Monday, July 8, 2013

Move Over, Bellagio

In the past 24 hours
 I have been covered in:
muddy grass clippings
crying children (3 at once)
hamster blood

Certainly the hamster blood was the most exotic of the messes I have had to clean up, but by far the most exciting has been... the vomit.  You know the look on the coach's face when the team sneaks up from behind and dumps a cooler of ice laden Gatorade over his head?  Yeah, that's the reaction I have, every time. 

I used to have this sixth sense with both Tessa and Jonah, where I could just tell when they were about to spew.  It was a gift.  I would actually have time to reach for the burp cloth before the geyser would gush.  I had people applaud my amazing gag-snag.  It was, I must admit, burgeoning on legendary. 

But this little gal is sneaky.  She just lets you pat her as she fusses, and you pat and she fusses and you pat and she fusses and WHAM!  Exorcist.  Puke pajamas, drenched clear to my upchuck-soaked-undies and hurled upon hair.  She has put my over-sized cups to good use by hoarking straight down my cleavage and filling my bra.  Indeed, my cups runeth over.  In fact, at this very moment, I smell like the inside of an old milk carton on a warm day.  It's a lovely aroma to conjure, you're welcome (and anyone who is feeling "holier-than" can come on over and hold the child while I shower.  Oh, you don't want to hold the little cookie-tosser?  I rest my  case).  I guess I lost my mojo, the magic that I once had for avoiding the fountain of yuck.  I must be getting old.

We are working on a fix for the situation.  I went off dairy a week ago, and have abandoned gluten, eggs, nuts, soy and my sanity this week.  It was an easy choice, but a challenging commitment.  When I did it with Jonah, you may recall, if I cheated the results showed up in Technicolor spots on the poor kid's head and chest.  With Natalie, it is more subtle.  I am not even sure it is food related, all I know is that about 4 times a day she displays the entire contents of her belly in a spray that would make the Bellagio jealous.  It is nice to see I am making gallons of milk, not so nice to see it in reverse.  Somehow she is keeping enough down to have gained weight; she is almost the size of a sack of flour, but her screams and wails are heart breaking, and her flatulence would impress a long-haul trucker.

When she isn't crying or asleep, we have a wonderful 45 seconds together.  I really adore her, spinning head and all.  If you see the lights on at 4am, come on over.  I am singing my way through the 80's this week for our nighttime tear-tour, but I was never very good with the hair bands. 

Bring a rain slicker.

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