My phone beeps. Emails come in. Texts pop up. Oh, the day has begun. All the things that beg of me and I am honestly not sure I know how I got signed up for all of this. It takes me over an hour to reply to an email because of “buh’s” that need to be changed (desperately changed), clothes that need to be washed because the diaper didn’t fulfill its end of the bargain, baths that need to be given because, let’s face it, baby wipes were not created for this kind of clean up, counters that need to be bleached because I am honestly not sure what my son got into with his hands that is now being shared everywhere in the kitchen.
Maybe I will get to that cup of coffee soon…
Time passes, “buhs” get changed, hands get washed. The phone rings: it is my love calling from Afghanistan. Ah! Finally, a break from everything and a talk with my husband. It’s the one phone call I get, so live it up! I am reminded of things I need yet to do- maintain vehicles, get tax information around, pay bills…oh, just what I am longing to do!
Sorry dear, even as we speak, nature is calling! So, I take two calls at once: my husband’s and my own. My son follows me to the bathroom where he stands in front of me, gets red-faced and things get audible from his backside… “Buh…” I hear. Yes, yes I know. Again. This will have to wait a moment- momma has a buh of her own to deal with right now. And the crying begins. He wants on my lap. Of all places, really, the toilet is where you want me to hold you? I tell myself not to argue. Suck it up. Hold the phone in one hand, baby in another, and worry about the rest when you have the time or a free hand.
Both “calls” conclude and I am off to about the fifth visit to my depleting diaper changing station.
Buhs changed. Hands washed. Phone rings.
