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Bad Mommy

In hindsight, getting out of bed was the mistake this morning. Not that there were any real options on that particular move, given that the wee man demanded attention at 5:30 a.m. and could not be shushed, but, still, it was the critical error that may prove to be what sends me to the liquor store for several gallons of gin. I've already warned the lime in the fruit bowl that his demise will come soon. Very, very soon.

While the early hour is partly to blame, it goes further. The Diva, who had diaper leakage last night that required a complete change of all clothing at 3:30 a.m., was extra pokey when it came to getting out of the house. By comparison, her normal dawdling is a whirlwind. It was that bad. Coupled with that was a spilled bowl of cereal, continuous demands for oatmeal and general clambering over the couch like a crazed weasel and it is a wonder we got out of the house at all.

But even that could have been handleable had both the spouse and I been better rested. He was the one who handled the aforementioned pee-flood at 3:30 while I was feeding the Dude. The Diva then decided she wasn't going to go back to sleep, then finally did...at 5:30 a.m. The Dude was then up. I took him downstairs to give Scott a chance to actually sleep, then I promptly crashed on the couch until about 6:45, which is when everyone else got up. The general lack of sleep meant that we were about 30 minutes late getting the shower routine started, which meant that we left the house late, which meant we got the kids loaded up late -- we would have almost been on time had the Diva not used her Zen-like stalling techniques -- which meant they got to school late, which means the adults got to work late.

And even that would be OK. Lateness happens. It's not like we're brain surgeons or somesuch, where life and death hang on our promptness. Yet it adds a level of frantic to an already stressful day, that is complete with a trip to the doctor with the Dude because he has a weird belly-button issue, several loaads of laundry (read again about the urine) and at least one trip to the grocery. Oh, and I have to teach a class and grade. This doesn't even begin to take into account the revisions I haven't yet done on The Book and the fact that the deadline is rapidly approaching. Plus there are two columns that I should have done already. And, no, the 15 minutes I've spent throwing this post together could have been better served doing something else -- but I don't have any projects that will take just 15 minutes and feel like I need to complete something today.

I think my head might pop.

Even that's not what has really sent the morning into a grumbly funk. The true culprit is the fact that I looked at the schedule of the other babies in the Dude's class and realized that I'm the only one who has him in there five-days-a-week. No, he's not there eight hours every day, but he is there more than the other infants. And, frankly, on some mornings, like this one, I wish he were there all of the time, which makes me think that I had no business having a second one and trying to have a life outside of my house, that I am a bad mommy. And then I get all cheesed off that no one thinks the same of my spouse and that he probably does not suffer the same sort of guilt about the whole thing and then I realize that life isn't fair and that my problems are of the first-world sort and are not life-threatening and my house isn't underwater but, still, fuck. Why do I keep ramming my head against this particular issue? You'd think I'd have figured it out by now. Or given up. But, noooooooo.

Here endeth today's rant, not because I'm ranted-out, but because I have to go fetch the Dude and sit in a doctor's office. The fun never stops.

Later: Because this is turning into *that* kind of day, I made it worse by parking someplace where the Diva could see me when I went to get the Dude for his appointment. There was wailing. There was pouting. There was rending of garments. During all of this, I just felt like a Grade A schmuck because there were so many other ways to get into his room and avoid detection. End result, because I needed to assauge my mommy guilt, I promised a special treat for tonight. It may involve a trip to Friendly's with the Dude, which will be an adventure. I'm afraid to find out what will happen next. I'm betting on locusts.

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