Here’s a post.
jennythegreat.com | 4 CommentsSo alright then.
How have I been? I’ve been busy.
Where have I been? I just answered that - I’ve been busy.
Well, why so busy? Let me tell you.
Kid is awake every morning between 4:30 and 5:45am. Guess who else is up then. Yeah, usually me. Nothing I can do about it. Can’t go back to bed, can’t just sleep through it, can’t pawn him off on the husband because he’s got work in three hours and likely didn’t go to bed until after 11:30 last night since I get home late from my evening shift and he waits up for me because he’s a nice guy. So I’ve seen the sunrise through the slits in the blinds on the living room window every morning for months now.
I usually try to go to sleep and nap while the kid plays in the living room, but two things restrict my total relaxation and decent into sleep mode: there are inevitably crumbs of everything we’ve eaten lodged in the lovesac folds that find my skin whenever I move, and things happen when I fall asleep.
One of the things that happens when I’m asleep is sometimes, the kid will poop. This isn’t a problem generally because, you know, diapers. It’s when he gets the proactive urge to learn potty training and takes off his diaper and then forgets he was about to go sit on the potty we have in the living room and instead wanders around pooping (how can you even poop while you walk? I would figure that to be an evolutionary impossibility. is that possible for adults? wait, I don’t really want to know the answer to that.) and then I wake up because in my dream somebody has thrown an old hamburger into the gasmask I’m wearing with my prom dress for some reason and I realize that, wow, that is indeed poop that I’m smelling and wow, how did… wait, I’m not even going to tell you what happened. Just know that poop + laminate floors + cats + roving kid + oh my god did you actually get it on your hands what wait don’t touch that no no no no oh lord stop touching things let me get you into the bath crap don’t touch the showercurtain or my hair = an eventful morning.
Let me talk about diapers for a second. You know why? Because I started my own business, that’s why. If you’re in the Vegas area and are interested in cloth diapers, let me know (jennythegreat at gmail dot com and I’ll send you the website URL). I have inventory I can come show you and explain how everything works and you’d be supporting a good cause (me) (wait, I mean the earth) (and me) (we’re a team, yo) and you’d be saving money hand over fist. I have friend pricing.
Speaking of friend pricing, I’m stressed. You can tell how stressed by how frequently I post blogs and by how lousy my topic segues are. Anyway. I’m stressed because holy moly having a kid is hard work. Sure he plays on his own (and poops a lot). Sure he’s great and cute and awesome and wonderful. But I’m stressed because it is nearly impossible to be horny with a little monkey staring you down holding a sleeve of saltines. I say nearly impossible, but the sliver of window where it is possible exists only when the kid turns around and runs away for a moment before ripping the package open and launching the contents of the package nine hundred feet in the air to scatter all over your floor so that you’re crunching crackers in the middle of the night when you get up to actually have a moment to yourself. Yeah. So that tiny, impossible window of opportunity rarely presents itself, so it’s not likely that I’m getting laid anytime soon. (Sorry for the TMI, Dad)
it’s also really, really hard to write anything. For instance, at this very moment I have the little monkey crying big monkey tears into my lap as he fights my arms to get to my boobs. It’s really, really hard to write like that. The crying is distracting and my arms keep moving so I hit all the woflkdk sllksye sna d then he tries to help me type and we end up wihllkdk hsldlf’sdf
sdf
sf[09s9d
s
cs
dc’sd
lknf
…
He got a boob. I’m going to try to nap while he is occupied. With a boob.
I said boob.
