My day today started out with a bad dream.
One of those dreams where you are awakened an hour or two earlier than your normal time and then go back to sleep. One of those dreams where you dream you are getting up at your normal time.
One of those dreams that feels real.
I was woken up at about six by Matthew, who was leaving for work early. He usually doesn't leave until about 7:20ish after the boys are up, so it was the Mommy Show.
But I went back to sleep for about an hour because the boys don't get up until about 7:00.
In my dream, I heard Andrew making noise in his room upstairs. He's not allowed to turn on his light or play until 7:00, and seeing as it was in the six o'clock hour, I went upstairs to tell him to keep it down and try (yeah, right) to go back to sleep.
His furniture was rearranged, and his room was super messy. Still, these things didn't clue me in that this was a dream. As I was talking to Andrew, trying to get him to go back to sleep, I heard noise in the hallway outside his door.
I went out there and realized the other boys had somehow gotten out of their cribs and were headed for the stairs. The 16 hardwood stairs that go straight down.
That's when The Slow Motion started.
By the time I got to the top of the stairs, Benjamin had safely made it almost to the bottom of the stairs but Thomas...
He was falling. Hitting his head multiple times as he tumbled down the stairs. Boom. Boom. Boom.
My sweet baby.
I am still haunted by this dream, y'all.
As I "slow motioned it" down the stairs, I knew that I would have to call 911 as soon as I could. I thought about how quickly I could get to the phone.
But then I woke up.
I was able to shake off the dream, but I have had to make myself NOT remember it all day.
So I got up at 7:00 and heard Andrew's door open. He usually gets up about then to use the bathroom and then he goes back to his room, where he's not allowed to come out until 8:00. (He usually plays, reads, etc.)
But when I started walking upstairs w Thomas's Prevacid in hand, Andrew was just sitting on the stairs.
Kinda spooky like.
I asked him what was wrong, and he said the dreaded words: "I pee-peed in my bed."
*Let me insert here the tidbit that my lower back is really hurting. I had gone on a three-mile run last night, and for some reason I woke up in a lot of pain. All the bending over I had to do over the next few hours certainly didn't help. Thank goodness I still have prescription Naproxen from my C-section 11 months ago.*
So I told him to strip down naked and practically got into a fight with him about removing his socks.
I went into change Thomas and give him his medicine and ear drops. I discovered a full, poopy diaper, but it was all contained in his diaper.
Today is Thursday, so that means sheets and towels get washed. I let Thomas crawl around in his room with the door securely closed while I changed out his sheet and changing pad cover. All that bending down hurt.
I put Thomas back in his clean crib with toys and stuffed animals while his Prevacid activated (they can eat 30-45 minutes afterwards), as is protocol.
I threw foul, urine-smelling Andrew in the tub while I stripped the sheets and comforter from his bed and threw them over the banister.
Then I went to check on Benjamin, who had been happily playing in his crib.
Sitting in a bunch of poop.
Granted, it wasn't everywhere, but it had leaked out of his pajamas, and was even down his left leg into his footed sleeper.
Nicely played, Benjamin. Nicely played.
I set up my station with plastic bags ready, hanging on the knobs of the changing table (one for poopy diaper and wipes, one for poopy clothes), old towel on the changing table, box of wipes on the edge of the dresser, Kidd Kraddick in the Morning on the radio.
But this one was rough. I needed four hands.
Poop got everywhere, and then I knocked the box of wipes way down into the bottom of B's hamper. But I had a hard time retrieving it because A. My hands were holding two poopy feet, B. My back was killing me, and C. My other two boys were screaming at me.
Somehow I made it through yet another doozy-of-a-poopy from Benjamin, and realized that even though it was nearing 8:00, and Thomas was about 20 minutes overdue to eat, that he, too, needed an early-morning bath.
So I threw him into the tub with Andrew.
Which is a recipe for disaster in and of itself.
I went as quickly as my poor back allowed to clean up the mess in Benjamin's room, throwing his dirty things over the banister.
I was creating quite laundry to-do list.
A smelly one.
Thankfully, we keep Thomas's playpen (where he has his Playpen Time--independent play--daily) in the sink part of the upstairs bathroom, so I threw Squealer (as is his nickname when he squeals like the Katherine I never had) in there with his toys while I bathed Andrew and Benjamin.
Bathing two squirmy boys while another squeals and your back is spasming is NOT my idea of a fun morning.
Or even an okay morning.
But I finally got them bathed and dressed, and Thomas fed.
And all the laundry done.
Thankfully I have a great sister-in-law who dropped off her heating pad for me to borrow.
Thankfully I have a washer and a dryer.
Thankfully I have great boys who behaved the rest of the day.
Oh, and if you're wondering what the stomach bug has to do with any of this...
Benjamin was supposed to have speech therapy at 9:00, but his therapist called at 8:15 and told me that she couldn't make it because she had the stomach bug and was up all night vomiting.
I hate it for her, but it certainly made my morning a little easier.
If only her stomach bug could have helped my back feel better.