My big fat bad morning

Ever have one of those days where you really should just go back to bed?  This is mine. . .

Actually, it started last night.

Matilda hasn't been sleeping well lately.  She's really hit a growth spurt.  She's climbing and cooing and trying so hard to walk.  But at night, she's fussy.  And because I have the best husband on the planet, I haven't had to deal with her at night. 

So last night I could really see his stress.  And I tried to take over.  And by take over, what I really mean, is that I made dinner for the first time in a month, bathed and fed one child, and expected a long royal line of accolades for my apparent hard work.

Anyway. . .I fed and rocked Tills and she was out cold.  COLD.  Snoring, in her cute little way that babies snore, which actually isn't that cute because it's just the dried up boogers that you're hearing. . . and I took her upstairs to bed.

Laid her down. . .put her quilt on her. . .gave her one last pat on the head. . .and shut the door.

And that's when I heard the loudest, deepest retching vomit sound.  Retching like a grown man. Ahhherrrrgh!

Everything was covered in baby puke.  The bed. The wall.  The floor.  The mommy. . . . .

That was last night.

Eventually, she went back to bed.  And no, she's not sick. . .she just had a coughing fit and up came everything I'd just fed her. . . that's what I get for not burping the baby. . .when will I learn?

About 3:00 a.m. (a fat thank you to the Exorcism of Emily Rose for allowing me to freak out every time I'm awake at 3:00 a.m.). . .I fell out of bed.  Right out of bed.  Bill didn't even notice.

This morning? 

This morning I could only find one of every sock I own.  I pulled out a white shirt and some khaki pants and could only find a black bra.  This morning, I dropped a full jug of milk out of the fridge.

Yes.  The cap popped open.

This morning I stepped in crap from rat dog on my way to the car.  SIDE NOTE:  "rat dog" is my affectionate name for my parent's dog.  She looks like a rat.  She acts like a rat.  And she eats socks. 

No, seriously.

I was able to scrape the crap off my heel and onto the tire of my dad's car.  I actually did that.  And admitted it.

I went to Dunkin' Donuts this morning because after the whole milk thing I was pretty angry at my house and thought it best not to operate machinery.

This is how it went. . .

Old lady that should be retired but probably can't because of those lousy Republicans:  What can I get for 'cha?

Me:  A veggie egg white flat bread and a medium french vanilla, cream only, please.

Here's where it all went to hell .  . .

Me:  And would you mind putting a few ice cube in that for me?

This lady stops pouring my coffee, gave me the nastiest look ever and threw ice in the cup.  I think she said something about charging me for ice. . .or maybe she said something like I should choose between a hot or iced coffee. . .I'm not really sure.

Anyway, I have my coffee and I wait and I wait and I wait and finally the old lady that should be retired but probably can't because of those lousy Republicans asks me what I'm waiting for.  I told her I was waiting for the veggie egg white sandwich.

She handed me something off the counter.  I left.

On my drive in, I was cut off about 400 times (or at least that's when I stopped counting. . .), I hit every red light, and dropped my keys in a puddle.

I wish I was making this all up.  I really do.

I got into my office, opened my coffee and I could still see ice floating in it.  She filled the damn thing with ice.  And my sandwich?  Just a piece of sausage.  On a croissant.

I'm still going to eat that. . . .'cause who don't like sausage?  But I needed to reheat my coffee.  I put the cup right in front of the door to the microwave. . and in this alternate-universe-slow-motion-reality I watched myself push the button to open the microwave door, and my coffee spilled all down my pants.

My Ann Taylor pants.

I cleaned it up and came immediately to tell you.  Because all of this can really mean one thing. . .I need to end this day.  Immediately.  Maybe right after lunch.  Maybe after a long lunch of margaritas. . .