I work part-time. 2 days a week. My mom has graciously allowed this source of income by taking care of my little E. This week illness fell upon the caregiver residence. In effort to avoid another costly visit to the hospital only to be told he just needed to "wait it out," we needed to come up with another option. It was decided that I would work from home. Lets call this a play by play as I recall it:
I log on. I'm primarily participating in Live Chat with our Distributors. I sit next to E on the floor with the laptop appropriately in my lap, thinking he won't feel like I'm consumed elsewhere. My replies start to look like this: awertse5yio;jdrt;a. I move him to a cozy corner in the living room and surround him with a plethora of toys in hopes that he will stay entertained while I work from the kitchen table. After a brief chat, I turn to find the Xbox and Wii systems flashing and running, the digital antenna tipped over, and my little "gamer" sucking on a shiny, slobber covered Xbox remote. For a brief moment I have a sinister thought. If I let him play with the remote, he'll be entertained, and it wouldn't be tragic if by the time he was done with it, the controller of all night and weekend consuming video games was...oops..broken. The good wife in me stops and says: "This is daddy's, he will be sad."
E begins to rub his eyes. Aww, nap-time. I'll put him down for his nap and then I'll be able to put in a couple hours of undivided working time, and I'll be that much closer to finishing so I can just focus on my babe. Fast forward 30 minutes later. Loud screaming coming from the bedroom. HALF AN HOUR? What kind of a nap is that?? It takes longer than that to carry out the pre-napping routine! (binky, blanky, rocking, song.) I can tell that he's obviously still tired, but he just doesn't want to sleep. I'm convinced that he knows. He's deliberately creating a diversion in effort to protest the work from home notion. After all, he won't get the overabundance of love and attention I unavoidably pour over him as my blessed first child.
I make my 3rd attempt to let E play while I chat. I realize I haven't let Mighty out all day. I let Mighty out. Things are going pretty well and I feel like I'm actually accomplishing something while E is surprisingly playing really well on his own. Now I have to go to the bathroom. The call of nature brings recollection to my mind that I let the dog out to go to the bathroom...quite some time ago. I start to panic and call out his name hoping I let him back in at some point. No luck. I scoop up my little man and bolt out the door in my bare feet.
Let me paint a picture for you. I'm wearing a softball shirt I've had since I played softball when I was 12. I have carelessly paired it with a pair of black leggings that are ever so comfortable but only acceptable to wear in public when accompanied by a blouse that covers my post pregnancy booty. I rarely sleep in my make-up, but did for the first time in a long time based on late night circumstances. The result is a smeared hot mess.
I start running to my neighbor's house in all my juvenile t-shirt and bare foot glory. After realizing Mighty has scurried further than just the surrounding neighbor's yards I drop little E off at a friend's. I continue to run around the neighborhood (still in bare feet) as it begins to hail. These pellets are painful! I head back home, get in my car and start sheepishly scanning the outskirts of the neighborhood. All I can think is that I've lost or killed my dog and I'm not cut out to be a working mother and a pet owner. I feel too embarrassed to roll down the window and announce to all friends and acquaintances that I've carelessly endangered my poor puppy's life by calling out his name. Not to mention I'd rather not call attention to my less than put together self. I say a little prayer that I can have another chance to at least find him a new home where his well being is actually considered.
I find him. Back home. Now E is really tired. I finally lay him down for a nap on my bed instead of his crib in hopes that he'll be comfy and sleep a little longer. I could really use the time to finish up my work and get myself a shower. I finish my work. Now for a glorious hot
shower bath before the husband gets home. Then he'll come in and see how efficient and accomplished I can be. I start running the bath water in my guest bathroom and realize I need the shampoo from my room. I've got myself a very light sleeper. Do I risk it? How bad do I really need clean hair? I risk it. I carefully, quietly, creep the door open and tip toe in. Out of no where, my new found Mighty lets out a giant BARK. Baby's awake. He and I look at each other with complete despair for obvious different reasons. I think to myself. There is no reason a perfectly good bath tub full of hot water should go to waste, and who knows when the next opportunity will arise. I knew I would have to get creative, since poor little E had already been playing alone today and he was still a little bit startled not to mention nap neglected. What could I do? Thinking...highchair. I wheel the highchair into the bathroom. Yes, I put my son in his highchair in the bathroom and filled his tray with Cheerios.
And that is why there were wet Cheerios on the bathroom floor.
We mothers deserve employee of the month every month.