Tomorrow is a Good Day

It can only get better I keep thinking.  Yet, as I drove out of the party store parking lot and it wasn't even 10 a.m. all I could think was, "Tomorrow is going to be a good day.  Today is what makes tomorrow necessary."  Tomorrow H gets the elective snip.  His Facebook status is all about jockey's and frozen corn.  All things needed for this much anticipated (at least on my part) surgery.  High fives all around from my sistah's!  Sorry, H. 

Today I got woken up at 5 a.m. by The Fifth Element.  I did the Night of the Living Dead walk to her nursery and fed her.  Half hour later, if that, she was up again.  S'alright. H's alarm had already been going off for the last fifteen minutes.  I was up.  I fed her again in bed and right after H shut the front door and I sat her up to burp her I was showered with an early morning, in the dark, all over the bed puke-fest.  In my hair, from my shoulders to my knees puke-fest.  Again, I ask- clean the kid, the bed, or me?  This seems to be a daily routine.  It went in that order. 

By the time we hit the preschool parking lot I had already dealt with flying bananas, a baby that wouldn't stop screaming, a cranky pants preschooler who pouted all morning about how the kitchen chairs were arranged and a toddler that wanted to lob sippy cups at my head.  Milk spray not optional.  At least I had showered right?  Eau de spit up and snot count as a fashion choice too, right?  Does Darth Vader offer up his services as a nanny?  I might need to look into that. The Imperial leader and his Dark Side grip might be the only way to reign in these troops. 

So there I was sitting at the light, in my car filled with a toddler who wouldn't stop squawking like a chicken (Bwak, BWOK!) for the last twenty minutes and a baby that wouldn't stop screaming and I thought, "Yes, indeedy! Tomorrow is going to be a good day."