Monday Morning, 10AM

Today has been the Monday of all Mondays. And it’s only 10AM.

I’m not even going to waste any more energy writing an introduction. I’m just going to jump right in. Heres what you need to know: #2 had an appointment at the pediatrician’s office at 8:30 (which, for us, is the perfect time).

8:25AM: We get to the pediatrician’s office and everything is great. #1 is back and forth between playing with the other children and playing in my purse (and by ‘playing in my purse’, I mean, throwing its entire contents onto the floor). But I allow it because it’s keeping him happy and more importantly, keeping him quiet and in one spot while I have paperwork to fill out.

5 minutes later: #2 is screaming and #1 keeps darting for the far corners of the office where not only can I not see him, but there are unlocked exit doors decorated with large, brightly colored, flashing lights.

“#1! GET OVER HERE!” I yell across the waiting room.

“Mama! Wha you doin?”   “GET OVER HERE!!

So I start to count, “1!!! …2!!!!”

Still, no answer. So I pack up screaming #2 in the car seat, give him his paci, pick up the entire contents of my purse – 2 pens, junk paper, train tickets from the mall, my phone, stickers, and a plastic bag of gold jewelry-, and I head his way.

“GET BACK OVER THERE AND SIT DOWN!”

He obliges and I go back to answering questions about infant eating habits.(Seriously, WHY can’t they just e-mail you the paperwork beforehand? WHO THE HELL HAS TIME TO SIT WITH TWO KIDS and answer question after question on infant eating habits?? You know how I know #2 is eating enough??? HE’S A FAT ASS. As a matter of fact, he has more chins than a Chinese phone book (thank you, second grade jokes that I still apply to real life).

“Mama! Wha you doin!? Mama!” 

This happens at least 6 more times. In that order.

I ask the receptionist if she has any idea when we’ll be seen. She’s clueless.

“Mama! Wha you doin? Mama! Mama!”

Meanwhile, I’m consumed with a never-ending pile of paperwork, trying to pacify #2, and #1 throws the wooden bead maze across the room, then empties my purse.. again. I don’t even bother to clean it up because, really, what’s the point.

Then #1 spots the TV  (which is turned off) and starts yelling “MOOIES! (movies) MOOIES!!! MAMA! MOOIES!!”

“Mama!”

“Yes?”

“Wha you doin?”

#2 is still screaming

#1 is  now ON TOP of the kiddie table, jumping as high as he can and screaming “BOOBIES!!!!! BOOOOOOOBIES!!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOBBBIIIIIEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!! HAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH”

WHAT ARE YOU DOING!??? GET DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Seriously, what the hell is wrong with my child??? And more importantly, WHERE did he learn that??? Jesus.

Are they ever going to call us back????? How backed up can the doctor possibly be at 8am??

“Mama! Wha you doin?”

They call us to window #5, so again I pack up screaming #2 in the car seat, give him his paci, pick up the entire contents of my purse and the plastic bag of gold jewelry. Of course, the trip to window #5 was pointless. And by pointless, I mean it was not worth what I had to go through to get there.

I finally get #2 quiet, place him back in his car seat, and finish answering questions on bowel movements.

“Mama! Wha you doin?”

Then, I swear to God, simultaneously: “Mama! I need tee-tee!” (while stripping down IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WAITING ROOM). “Mrs. Goldi, we’re ready for you to come back!”

#2 is screaming (again), #1 is naked, and NOW is when they decide they’re ready to see us?? …fml.

Unfortunately for me, pee trumps answering the nurse because when you have a tot who is freshly potty trained, “i need tee-tee” means quite literally: “You take me now or I’ll pee on everything within a ten foot radius and then cry about it.”

Ohmygod the crying…

So again, I pack up screaming #2 in the car seat, give him his paci, pick up the entire contents of my purse and the plastic bag of gold jewelry. By this point, #1 has his trousers around his ankles, is grabbing his wiener, yelling “TEE-TEEEEEEE!!!!” at the top of his lungs, and is refusing to walk. I knew the pee was on its way and I had to act fast.

With the car seat, diaper bag, and purse on my left arm I had no other choice but take my right arm and drag #1 to the bathroom.

Yes… Drag.

I drug my naked son across that nasty, germ infested, waiting room floor, all the way to the bathroom where I beat his ass until he stood up because even I have standards and I wasn’t about to drag him across the bathroom floor. That would be gross.

We finally made it home (without seeing the doctor and without turning in the paperwork I so diligently completed (Which, by the way, ended up lost), and thank the good Lord above it was nap time. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I put #2 in his crib, turned around, and noticed there was something on the guest bed.

imageI shit you not, it was a turd.

A TURD!!!!! ON THE BED!!!!!  Based solely on circumference it could only belong to a human. A toddler human.

Seriously, FFFFFF MMMMMMM LLLLLLLLLLLLLL

When did this happen?? How long had it been there??

I don’t even care any more. Time to put #1 down for a nap.

As we sat there rocking, I got two words into “You Are My Sunshine” when I completely broke down. I was sobbing to the point of no return. I was exhausted.

“Mama! Wha you doin?”

“QUIT ASKING ME THAT STUPID FUCKING QUESTION!!!!!!!” 

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