Blood, Sweat, and Tears

...and chocolate pudding, and ketchup, and cherry popsicle, and spitup, and I hate to admit, baby poop...

This is what I'm wearing. What are you wearing, hot stuff?

Ok, I had completely forgotten about the baby poop until just now, to be fair. I had every good intention to change my clothes after I got Natatasha out of her poopy diaper, which exploded onto me, but in the midst of changing her diaper, Adam hit his head on the dining room table so one emergency faded into another and I got distracted and what was priority #1 (getting out of shorts that have poop on them) became priority #2 (helping Adam). By the time that was over, I had forgotten about the poop and went on my business of figuring out what the last priority was before the whole diaper emergency business happend.

Which happened to be finishing cleaning up the chocolate pudding smear on the table from where Adam got tired of eating and decided to get creative and finger paint. Which, of course, ended up on me when I picked him up out of his seat and failed to realize that he still had some pudding on him. I thought I had wiped it all off, but food ends up in the darndest places. In fact, his food almost always ends up on me. As does anything he suddenly realizes is sticky, wet, itchy, gooey, or dirty (despite having been playing with the sticky, wet, itchy, etc. substance for more than a few minutes). Once he realizes the substance is on him and declares it "gose" which is Adamese for "gross", he yells "wape it!?!" (wipe it) and then runs over to me and wipes himself on my leg or shirt. I would like to blame the ketchup on this, but it's actually from my own clumsiness when I attempted to steal one of his corn dog husks (he hates the corn part) and it fell apart after I failed to realize that its weight had increased triple from soaking in ketchup for 30 minutes. It fell apart and half of it hit my leg before splatting on the floor.

The cherry popsicle, though. That's all Adam.

The spitup, nope. Not from me. DH and I had a whole conversation where we wondered when it's no longer called spitup and is referred to as vomit. We thought we were pretty clever until I mentioned it to his sister. She put an anticlamactic end to our cosmic, formerly unanswerable question when she simply responded "when you eat solid food". So there we go. Anyway, Natasha is not yet into solid food (apparently, neither is Adam, come to think of it, unless you count ketchup, cherry popsicle, and pudding). So her spitup adorns my shoulders. That's how you spot a new mom in stores. Just look at her shoulders. There should be tiny white patches where she burped her baby and didn't have a spit cloth on hand. Chances are good it was the cleanest of all her clothes because she doesn't have time to do laundry.

It's no wonder I feel so sexy at the end of the day. All this running around, wiping up messes and fluids (and solids, oye). It makes a person sweat. Makes you feel like you burn a million calories and shouldn't even have to use your treadmill. Which I never get to, sadly. And to round things out, I actually did bleed on myself today when I cut my finger trying to clean my new food processor. I was dying to try a recipe for carrot soup, but only got as far as chopping up the celery before the priority shift happened again. And the tears, well, if a day ends where I don't end up with Natasha and Adam tears on me, my shirt would be soaked in my own tears of happiness.

And bourbon.