Toddler Twilight Zone
6:40PM: I step into the house after a long day that involved driving home in rush hour traffic from a shoot in Novato. First thing I hear from Asian Grandma as I'm bending down to pet the dogs and take off my boots, "Watch out! Watch out! Don't step in the barf! Emmy's in here. She barfed!"
The barf is 15 steps away from me in the dining room, a nice chunky pool of chicken soft taco.
Emmy is sniffling in the bathroom, with barf on her shirt. She gets really emotional any time she throws up, probably because she feels pretty crappy, but also because she hates messy bodily functions. I carry Emmy to her room to strip her down and wipe off her chest, while Asian Grandma starts scooping up the barf puddle. As the Wonderpets say, What's gonna work? Teamwork! I look down onto Emmy's bed and see two chihuahua sized turds right ON TOP of her comforter.
I yell, "Someone pooped in here!" My mom goes ballistic because she lets these dogs out 800 times a day. It's either Tofu or Coco. More likely the latter. Coco will be sequestered in our next house. She can no longer be trusted because she's a territorial crotchety biatch and she's getting worse in her old age. The cuteness is not enough to allow her free kibble reign anymore.
7PM: The Good Doctor comes home, and we're getting Emmy settled and eating some Ritz crackers with jam. . I feed the dogs and see out of the corner of my eye ANOTHER double turd. This time, it's still steaming, right in the middle of the living room. On the hardwood. What is going on right now? Our dogs are not hardwood poopers. With the exception of Coco, they prefer grassy outdoors, or their designated pee pads, or the occasional soft fluffy piece of carpet. If they're going to poop inside, their motto is: the harder to clean, the better.
More paper towels and bleach wipes. I plan to buy some Clorox stock soon.
7:30PM: Washing Emmy's barfy clothes and pooped on comforter. Meanwhile she's A-OK. She seems perfectly happy, no signs of malaise. We play her the Maroon Five, prego Christina Aguilera "Moves like Jagger" clip from the AMA's that we DVR'd last night for her to dance to. She definitely has the moves like Jagger.
7:45PM: The night time routine continues. We give her a bath, she drinks a little milk, brushes her teeth, and goes to say goodnight to Daddy. The milk was a bad idea.
9PM: 30 seconds after climbing onto Daddy's lap to say she's heading to her "big girl" bed, she barfs all over his stomach. And starts wailing. "WAAAHHHH!" Barf. "WAAAHHHH!" Barf. Repeat about 8 times. We catch about 1/17th of the barf in a wastebasket. Turns out toddlers don't like to vomit into a container. We finally figure out we should put a towel down to catch her barf. By then, she's just spitting up cottage cheese-like bits. Too little too late.
9:20PM: The Good Doctor is covered in sour smelling curdled milk that is now seeping through his shirt onto his skin and down his sides onto our bed. Would've been hilarious if Emmy wasn't feeling so bad. More wipes, another mini bath, a change of clothes, and a second round of teeth brushing.
10PM: She seems better, and falls asleep exhausted after her usual 3 stories. I stay with her until I can hear her soft breaths and feel her little twitchy hands relaxing. My poor kitty. She is such a little soldier and she's so sweet, we feel awful when she feels awful. And she's such a good sport that it makes it hard to tell how sick she is or whether this is just a random round of nausea. She was just dancing like a maniac 20 minutes before she tossed her cookies all over Daddy. Toddlers are so weird.
11:15PM: Realize our jankity washer has stopped in the middle of washing the last load of sheets we started. A common occurrence that requires us to hit the "reset" button on the outlet. Not so amusing when it's time for bed and we have no sheets. Re-start washer. Throw selves on naked mattress. Not naked on mattress.
12AM: Pull sheets out of washer to discover The Good Doctor has washed a Kleenex along with them so there are bits of paper product all over our bedding. Die a little inside.
12:30AM: Playing Hanging with Friends on my phone when Good Doctor dumps heavy pile of warm sheets on my head. Commence making bed, followed by collapsing into snuggly goodness and passing out. Except I have terrible heartburn and can't get comfortable for another 30 minutes. Good times.