TGIF, folks. I kicked off the weekend with regurgitated soy-formula pooled in my belly button (which is strangely deep now, thanks to two Buckley spawn). Yes, Nash managed to spit up down my shirt collar, because spitting up ON my shirt would be too easy. After mopping it up with the nearest baby wipe, Piper asked me to smell her hands – oh, and let me know there was poop in her bed. (Spoiler alert: no poop. Just a toot trapped under the covers)
It’s a pretty solid note to end the week on. After all, Monday, Piper locked me outside for 10 minutes in my bathrobe because learning how to use locks is exhilarating (and wearing a bathrobe all day is acceptable). She yelled through the door, “HI MOMMY” while I begged to be let in, alongside my banished former inside-cats. Tuesday, she pouted on top of the wash machine for 30-minutes because I flushed her turd that she “wasn’t done looking at” (come on, you can relate). Wednesday, she had hand sanitizer and boogers for brunch (that short span between breakfast and lunch where she has to forage for snacks). Thursday, Nash LOUDLY started the day at 4 a.m. because sleep is overrated – waking his sister – who asked for a “bedtime story” at 4:15 a.m. and then said, “Mommy, it’s time for you to get out of my bed” following story-time-at-dawn because she was ready to resume rest, but Nash stayed up. Which meant I stayed up. And Tye slept through it all because dads can’t hear the crying. Their ears are broken. But, if you whisper in the quietest voice, only discernable by mice and ants, “blow job” at 4 a.m., their ears are magically, instantly healed. It’s a mystery, really.
Which brings us to Friday at 12:09. Nash is napping. Piper is singing “the wheels on the bus,” with a finger in her nose. I reminded her that boogers are nose dirt, and not to eat them. To which she just replied, “You don’t have to look at me mommy. I’m going to put them in the trash. And please be quiet, Nash is napping.”