Yesterday* was one of those days where my greatest accomplishment was NOT hurtling myself into oncoming traffic. Not in an OMG-I-worry-for-her-mental-health kind of way; more in a Mah-gawd-a-hip-fracture-administered-by-a-speeding-Prius-would-be-less-annoying-than-this-crying-HULKSMASH! kind of way. I mean, no biggie. We all have these kinds of days.
Determined to conquer these petty annoyances, I awoke today with a renewed sense of optimism, armed with a plan and schedule. And things were going great. Until Stella woke from her nap, and I was all…hmm, what's that smell.
No matter, I thought, this shitastrophy** will only set us 15 minutes behind schedule. I'll take this in stride.
On the way back to the bedroom, newly clean baby perched on hip, I thought to myself, hmmmm…my right side seems to be getting warmer all of a sudden. And damper. Oh…efff.
Not to be deterred, I set about cleaning up the messes. And in the interest of proper hygiene (the merits of which have been preached endlessly by Mr. Chef)*** I reached for the soap to wash my hands. At which point it shot out of my grasp and landed in the kitty litter, rolled around a bit, just so it could develop a nice crust of urine-soaked crystals and poo-poo flecks. This was followed immediately by a resounding chorus of "EFFFFF!"
Now, with the bodily fluids of two mammals on my hands, I quickly threw the soap into the garbage.*** Eff eff eff eff! Got the baby dressed, and set out for the grocery store. In the rain.
The only lesson I can glean from the above episode is that there is a real possibility that Stella's first utterance will sound something like this: "EFFFFF!" Between now and then, I'll have to come up with a plausible (and appropriate) explanation for the meaning of that sound.
*Dates have been changed for dramatic effect. Yesterday really means Sunday. You see, I intended to blog yesterday. But I figure that most of you reading this are in North America, and so it's technically still yesterday over there, and I live in the future, so I can totally get away with it.
**Again, Kate, the English language thanks you.
***I recounted this hilarious story to Mr. Chef last night (real last night) and it went something like this:
Me: Oh, if you're wondering, there's a reason why there is no soap.
Mr. Chef: It fell into the kitty litter?
Me: How did you know?
Mr. Chef: Oh, that's happened like three times. This week.
Mr. Chef: What? Its soap. It's self-cleaning.