Some days you were already looking at seven loads of dirty laundry and a pile of clean and you hear a sweet five-and-an-oh-so-very-half-year-old shout out in the early morning hours, “Mama, I just frowed up in mine bed.” You heard the ‘cough’ and didn’t jump, because it wasn’t Adelaide. The one who tricks you with vomiting masquerading as coughing. But you strip the bed. And you clean up vomit and diarrhea for an hour. And you get him back to sleep after a bath. And then the baby has diarrhea, too. And you are a cloth family. As you are rinsing out diapers for days, Bess grabs her brother’s vomit container and plays it like a drum. Immunity? You’ve already cancelled a physical therapy session. And date night. Your first date night in years. And it wasn’t really a date anyway, but you were pretending it was. The last time you went on a real date, your middle child was five months old. You cancelled the babysitter. You cancelled tomorrow’s playdate. You cancelled any laundry that doesn’t have visible chunks of last night’s dinner. And urine. Your house is starting to smell like a port-a-potty at a 4th of July festival. But you just keep laughing. You used to be in tears at this point. But today, you just keep laughing. The little humans don’t understand how you can chuckle right now. And neither do you. But it just spills out of you. And you giggle when you watch this little man on snowman sheets in May sleep so soundly. Because right before you snap a photo of him, he is having a full blown come to Jesus meeting with a dream nemesis. You have three sleeptalking offspring with a sleeptalking husband. You giggle so hard you think you might pee your pants. But you don’t. You really can’t handle anymore laundry.
When She Plays The Vomit Container Like A Drum