Some days, I just need to pee in peace. And Tuesday happened to be one of them. You want to know what happens in the two and a half minutes it takes for me to pee in peace? Oh, Loyals, I shall tell you.
Carter had just finished
throwing a delicious breakfast on the floor of tangerines, raisins and scrambled cheesy eggs. I quickly wiped him down, helped him to climb down from his high chair and turned "George" (Curious George) on the TV, hoping to quell any desire of his to get into anything while off I ran into the little girl's room. I watched as he took a seat on the couch, nibbling on some fingers, intent on watching whatever antics that silly little monkey would get into today.
Shame on me, Loyals. Shame on me. You would think by now I would know better.
While in the bathroom, not only did I hear a loud "thud" but I then heard nearly 8 successive miniature "thuds" followed by ecstatic shrieks and laughs.
Upon leaving the bathroom, to what to did my startling eye did appear? Oh, just The Toddler crouched on the mat in the kitchen, finger painting with the dozen (take away three for breakfast) eggs that his Go-Go-Gadget arms pulled from atop the counter.
Finger painting. With four thick, gooey, dear-god-they-could-be-salmonella-laden yolks. All over my kitchen mat.
Three of the other lone soldier eggs were cracked and beginning to leak all over the natural wood floor. Only two eggs were salvageable.
And that's when it hit me. How did I get here?
Standing in my kitchen, twenty and a half weeks pregnant with baby number two, wearing three year old JCrew Christmas pajama pants, my hair twisted into an unruly mom-knot, sporting (not proudly) one of Husband's old T-shirts fitting tightly around my belly, watching my 18 month old fingerpaint with EGG YOLKS on the kitchen floor.
Loyals, I used to save lives. Now? I'm barely managing to keep my sanity in check and my toddler from escaping through the front door sans pants.
Life is a funny, funny thing, I tell you.