This week has taught me two things:
#1: Just because you SAY things are going to get better the next day, doesn't mean they are going to get better the next day. Or the day after that.
#2: It's true what they say - no good deed goes unpunished.
Let's back up. At noon today, had you came to visit, you'd have found me atop my master bathroom toilet lid feeding the baby. Why in the world was I feeding the baby on a toilet? Because the carpet cleaners were making a lot of noise and that was the only semi-quiet, dark, dry floored room in the house in which to feed my very hungry, very overtired/overstimulated little baby girl. Why were there carpet cleaners in my house? To eradicate the fleas. Ew, gross, why were there freaking fleas in my house, you ask? Because yesterday, I discovered poor sweet Georgie-cat was covered in the buggers, then found the dog and Ralphie-cat also had fleas ... a lovely parting gift from our old friend The Dog. Remember him? Yeah, I'd found a few fleas on his belly just before The Lady showed up to take him home. I went out that same day to buy flea treatments for our pets (they'd been treated about 6 weeks before that, but I figured they could use a booster). Problem is, I went with something off the shelf that didn't cost $70 for three pets like our usual pick, Frontline. BIG MISTAKE. Don't cheap out on the flea shit, peeps. Because you'll end up feeding your baby on a toilet and telling the carpet cleaner guys who look like they've just been released from county jail that no, you're not interested in a whole house carpet protection treatment and that no, you'd also not like for them to clean your ducts, that you'd just like them to SHUT THEIR MOUTHS and GET THE &^%$#@! FLEAS OUT OF YOUR &^%$#@! CARPETS BEFORE YOU BREAK SOMEONE'S &^%$#@! FACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ahem. So yesterday I discovered we'd been invaded and went into a straight up frenzy. The flea discovery kicked off a whole crazy chain of events that would be funny if we were on a TV sitcom, but alas, we're not on TV and so it hasn't been very funny AT ALL. There was a house alarm set off as I frantically ripped open the back door to boot the fleabag cat outside, which led to a toddler scared to death of his crib because that's where he was (napping nicely, mind you) when I set the alarm off, which later meant a TWO HOUR get-Anderson-to-bed event that ended with me crying big frustrated tears on the top of his finally sleeping head as I rocked and rocked and rocked, which kicked off a night where nobody slept very much at all and I rolled around feeling itchy and gross and TOTALLY POSITIVE that there were twenty billion fleas eating me alive in my (non)sleep, which led to a morning where I woke up and started crying big stressball tears before I'd even brushed my teeth and was only saved from the brink of insanity by the arrival of The Lisa (oh, thank GOD for The Lisa) who came bearing donuts and a hug and two arms ready and willing to hold Miss V while mama and the Mister ran out to gather Frontline and new air filters and more laundry detergent to wash every last thread in this house to ensure complete flea removal. And get a few groceries, since, you know, we hadn't had whole milk or bread in the house for TWO DAYS. And teething tablets AND some baby cold meds, since in the midst of all this, Vivi cut her first tooth and Anderbug caught a miserable boogery cold. UNCLE!
Sheesh. I try to keep a cool head and a positive outlook and a grateful heart (and not to scare my mommy friends expecting/considering a 2nd child), but sometimes, I give up. This is hard. I know at the end of the (long, awful) day that what matters is that I have my J, my A, my V, my loving supportive family and friends, and a roof over my head. We'll survive fleas and sleep deprivation and toilet-top feedings. And worse. I know. But damn. Sometimes it just needs to be said: 2u2 is some serious insanity on its own. Then add in the rest of that nonsense? Yikes.