Sunday, February 24, 2008

So Tired, Baby Ate My Brain

As anyone who has had the joy of caring for a newborn baby knows, sleep is a luxury I just can't have. George is a bit colicky (although I hear he's not as bad as some) and won't allow anyone to set him down for a couple of hours in the evening.

Here's how my weekend went:

We get into the garage Saturday morning and notice the smell of slightly rotting meat. Apparently on Tuesday when we went grocery shopping, someone (not me) forgot a single bag of groceries in the car. The bag with 2 lbs of ground beef and 4 pork chops. On Wednesday when I went in for my 4 week postpartum checkup, I took the stroller out of the back of the car to take the baby with me into the dr.'s office and didn't notice the Walmart bag of meat. I never saw it.

So our morning begins with Sean making a mad dash for the dumpster with a Walmart bag of foul-smelling meat (at least we were blessed with very cool weather last week and the car is in the garage which stays cool). Then I send him upstairs for a bottle of Febreze which I then spray over almost every fabric surface of the car (except where we sat). We stop at a gas station and I run in to purchase two cherry scented hanging things and a bottle of Smoke-Out.

So begins our drive to visit Mom and Oma. We arrive and my mother gets to meet her grandson for the first time. All is well. We go home then leave the car overnight in the locked garage with the windows down. Phew.

This morning, I get up, feed the baby, burp the baby, then attempt a diaper change. George is having none of this and decides to pee once I get the diaper off. Good thing I laid a wet wipe over the fountain source. Then he spits up...and not just a spit up, but the curdled kind that drips into his ear and pools under his head. And it smells foul. Ahh, my weekend of rotting meat and sour milk. We're late for church. I manage to clean up most of the spit-up. He pees again, this time into the half installed new diaper.

Eventually we get out the door and I realize my housekeys are missing. Too late, I'll find them to church!

Church is fairly uneventful (although when the priest blesses George at the communion rail he chose that moment to stick out his tongue. I almost fell over laughing but managed to hold it in.) and we make it home.

Then begins the search for the keys. I called Mom to find out if I lost them there. I visit the apartment office hoping some kind soul found them in the parking lot and turned them in. I begin a cleaning spree of the apartment (in between feedings that is) hoping they'll turn up. I stress myself out so bad that Sean orders me to take a relaxing bath (it relax me, not to find my keys!).

Then I have a hunch as evening approaches. I check the pockets of a coat I swear I haven't worn in a couple of weeks (the last time I remembered using the keys was Thursday afternoon). There they are. I grudgingly admitted my brain lapse to Sean hoping he won't laugh. Too late.

I had planned on vacuuming and washing the car today...oh well. Maybe next weekend?

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Get the dvd "happiest baby on the block" and a yoga ball to sit and bounce him on. I swear by them both.

-mom of two, so far