When Do I Get R&R?

Everyone keeps asking for a list of things that Ryan wants. Not one person has asked me what I want in a care package, and although I may not be serving in Afghanistan, I’m still pretty sure I need a care package.

Here’s what you can send me: a masseuse, for my worn out back; a baby-sitter, so I can eat dinner at a decent hour for once; a mild sedative, for when it’s time for bed but I can’t sleep; some under-eye cream, for the dark circles under my eyes; bubble bath, for when Carson finally goes to bed and it’s me time; a hair stylist, so I can get my hair cut (hasn’t been cut since 4th of July); and finally, some sanity–for when I just can’t take any more.

There are some days when you just want to throw in the towel and give up. I came fairly close to that moment today. After a grueling workout on the treadmill, I stepped on the scale to discover I have not lost a single pound since Ryan left despite my exhausting workouts and strict dieting. I then drove across town to pay rent before driving back across town to stand in line holding a very squirmy seventeen pound baby for thirty minutes at the post office so I could send Ryan another care package (which, incidentally weighed 35 pounds, and yes, I carried it and Carson from the car into the post office). But, before I could eat lunch, I had to fix Carson a bottle and get him down for a nap. Instead of a nap for me, I had to eat and take a shower. After lunch, things settled down a little. Carson and I played in the floor and had a good time. Then, he sat ever so quietly and happy in his highchair while I made half a dozen phone calls to the families on my roster. He made silly faces at me, smiled, cooed, and giggled. I was so proud of him! As soon as I finished making phone calls, I picked him up to go put his pajamas on. As I carried him from the dining room towards his room, I noticed something wet and mushy on my arm. I looked down. Was that…poop? Where did it come from? In slow motion, I looked down to Carson’s leg, already knowing what I’d see. Greenish-brown poop oozing from his diaper. I walked back to the high chair. Yep. There it was. Luckily, the cushion is machine washable and removed easily with my free hand. Not having anywhere else to put Carson, I simply laid him in the bathtub (empty, of course), undressed him, and left him there while I threw his dirty clothes in the wash and gathered the post-bath supplies. In the two minutes I was gone, he managed to wiggle from one end of the tub to the other, smear poop all over his body and hands, and was as happy as a pig in…well, you get the idea. I did what any sane mother would do. I grabbed my phone and took a picture. And yes, I emailed it to Ryan. Two baths later (one to rinse off the poop, another to actually clean him), he was smelling like Burt’s Bees again. Now, about that masseuse…

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