An email I sent earlier today:

(Clears throat.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I will not be able to attend Mental Health Thursday Lunch today. It is true, I may indeed need it more than any of you, but I am awaiting a call from the pediatrician which might require immediate medical attention for my precious daughter.

What? you may ask. Is the Bird, aka Tiny Recurrent Pterodactyl, all right?

Mostly. You see, I had my Once Every Five Years If Not Pregnant Insomnia last night--thank goodness it only lasted until 1:30 this time, and then I was up for a bit at 4:30 due to inconsolable tiny people who can't speak English or Spanish that made me cry in frustration so hard that my husband woke up and took over for me with what is perhaps the most gentle hug I have ever received.

Brazelton says that they're doing this night waking thing because they're frustrated that they can't walk and their light sleep cycles are so light that they can't help but wake themselves--indeed, even the Bear has been writhing around in his sleep so much that he loses his bink, and then all hell breaks loose, multiple times a night. But I think the real reason for this is that they are now Officially Toddlers, and Hate Me.

So I was sleep addled. And imagine my joy when these tiny hating people, aka My Children, let me sleep until 9:30. And the quiet! Oh, the quiet! It was like a cheese danish, lightly warmed, brought to my side in a quaint bed and breakfast in Portland with a fine, fine iced latte from Stumptown Coffee by my usual imaginary cabana boy. It was delightful. I thought to myself that they might love me after all.

Soon the Junior Monkeys were making their happy wakeup time noises--although the Bird has returned to her Pterodactyl ways, and my eardrums are suffering, but at least at this point they were well-rested eardrums--so I made my way down the hall to greet the day with my two small loves. As I opened the door, a smell reached my nose, a familiar smell, a smell of great importance. And my vision was still blurred from sleep, but I could see a brown ring around my daughter's mouth.

Needless to say, her diaper was off.

I cannot describe the horror, but here are a few important points:

1. I had not had any coffee.
2. The Bear was screaming his head off in hunger.
3. She not only had a quilt in bed with her, but both her and her brother's duckies and a Linux penguin, all of which are now enjoying the jacuzzi of the washing machine.
4. Oh yes, they did have corn for lunch yesterday, why do you ask?
   

I wiped her off as much as I could, which turned the happy poop-covered girl into a screaming with rage poop-covered girl, and put her in the bathroom to go make some bottles so that the boy would finally stop screaming. I brought him and the bottles into the bathroom to find tiny pieces of toilet paper--wet toilet paper--scattered around my child.

The bath went well, the boy was fed, eventually everything made it to the washing machine, and I now have coffee. But I will never be the same, and now I'm awaiting news regarding my daughter and whatever hepatitis she may have contracted from her own feces.

Did I mention that tomorrow is my deadling for editing and formatting this 300 page dissertation I've been working on for the last month and a half? You know, the first enormous project of my freelance career? And that the dog apparently escaped from the backyard into Oakland Avenue while I was washing the poop off the girl?

Update: I am only supposed to watch for a fever and/or diarrea, and my beloved Julie has promised me air conditioning all afternoon if I can just make it to her office. We'll see, folks, we'll see. I must go, now they want breakfast. Of course, of course, it never ends. . .

Much love to all, and I hope your days are going better than mine,
Joan