I typed this with one hand.

by

Snapshot:

Slowly fermenting baby puke is in my bra, spread between my boobs like hummous. I am wearing my third outfit of the day…it has been dug out of the dirty laundry. I am wearing what were, until I purchased jeans, my ‘fancy trousers for best.’ These are black sweatpants.

I managed to rip a comb through my white girl overnight dreds this morning, but now my pulled back hair has the distinctive sheen of dirty.

Pause to smell the baby puke.

My back is breaking as I am hunched over my daughter (aka The Puker). She is not blinking, staring fixedly at the dead space above my shoulder. She is not asleep.

My son is in his bouncer, where I had to put him when she started screaming. He is biting his hand so hard I am wondering if I remember baby CPR in case he gums off one of his fingers and it gets stuck. He is not asleep.

They are both teething.

I am listening to folk music on lastfm, the place where people who cannot afford to purchase music hangout. I am wearing the same fuzzy red socks I put on after my shower last night.

I am not asleep.

My wife is working till nine tonight. She got a letter in the mail today telling her she was fabulously smart and did extremely well on her dissertation. She is not at home to help me when one baby is puking so hard it will soak through my sweatpants into my underwear, while the other screams like someone other than himself has bit his hand off….and my father-in-law plays on facebook, asking me the odd question about how to friend people while I am passing off my farts as belonging to the babies.

Oh.

Baby boy now crying.

We. Are Not. Asleep.

(You wanna bone me now, don’t you? I may no longer be breastfeeding, but my tits have more milk on them than you can possibly imagine.)

 

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One Response to “I typed this with one hand.”

  1. Tatiana Says:

    I’m so sorry hun. This sounds brutal. At least you’re super skilled at typing with one hand? :\

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