Well. The husband returned from work today, and from my lank hair knew I hadn't showered.
What a disgusting cowbag, right? That's the look I got anyway.
In my brain I wanted to go schizophrenic psycho mentalballs on him.
On waking I found cat sick all over the living room. Cleared it up, washed hands a lot. They are chapped from this.
Daphne woke up and promptly threw a tantrum about dropping a dummy. One of her two. A proper tantrum.
I held her at the window to watch the snow, then we had to stay there for ages while she pointed out every damn thing she could see.
Breakfast. Milk all over the carpet. Tried the naughty step. Tantrum. Hit head during tantrum. Crying fit.
Hug. Retching as crying fit got out of control. Tiny sick.
Daphne demanded a banana which then mysteriously became smeared over every flipping thing in the universe. Notice my lack of swearing as she now copies every blinking thing.
I wash up, actually for the second time this morning.
Daphne comes and tells me about her wet trousers. She wanted to wear pants this morning so I thought it'd be cool to try a day of potty training. However she refuses to sit on it, so I'm not sure how this is going to work.
We change her clothes. All the time I have to be extremely enthusiastic as all of a sudden clothes are the devil to her. When I put her socks on she screams like her feet are being chopped off. They are not.
It takes us half an hour to get back down the stairs, we have a discussion about how her cot is upstairs and her dinosaur is downstairs and Jesus I don't know what the hell else.
I agree to carry her as I just want to be in a different room damn it.
We look at her sticker book and she asks me to peel off and replace a George pig sticker no less than 28 times. I suggest she does something different and am greeted with more tantrum. Oh yay.
Lunch: hey I might wash up all her stuff again. Then cook her a meal which she half eats, half throws.
I clean the carpet. I notice some crumbs from yesterday and make a mental note to Hoover when she's being less of a dick. We read some books and have a few more tantrums before I put her to bed. I go downstairs and do more washing up. Ooh I'm going to eat some lunch!
I have at least an hour, if all goes to plan. I'm not going to waste that on pure showering and grooming. No no! Who will appreciate that? The postman?
Nah. I'm going to have a cup of coffee which will all reach my mouth warm, and shall not be spilt. I'm going to catch up on the adult world of Facebook (how ironic) and I'm going to write a blog post, to maintain some kind of sanity and try to find people like me!
Turns out the real world is full of people who think childbirth is amazing, and spend stupid amounts of money on tiny things. Hmm.
She's awake! What happened?? Surely that was only ten minutes??
Ok, let's play with the Lego.
Let's change those wet clothes. I explain about the potty, I'm even annoying myself now. She repeats me word for word about the potty but still decides to hold it all in. Poor girl. We make random creatures from playdough and read the same story approximately 100 times. I try to get playdough out of the carpet but apparently this is illegal in Daphne world.
I break up a fight between her and the cat and try to explain why this is inappropriate. She punches me in the eye.
I wash up.
I put away all the washing up and toys before Daddy gets home so we can pretend to have perfect domesticity. Spray on a bit of perfume and wipe off the crusty spaghetti chunks...
Make sure Daph is not tantrumming...
Daddy comes in and calls me on not showering. I did forget. But then I can't think of a moment when I fancied sharing a bathtub with someone who was going to urinate on me and then cry about it. And then tantrum because I didn't let them eat all of the toothpaste.
FORGIVE ME. I am a dirty cowbag.