My crappy life. Literally!

I will start off right away by saying if you have delicate sensibilities you might want to skip today’s post.   And then there’s part of me that thinks, heck, get over it, welcome to my life. Delicate sensibilities are luxuries not extended to extreme caregivers.

I always seem to be up to my elbows in bodily fluids, often excrement. If you hang around this blog long enough you will notice that theme. I wash my hands so often that for most of the winter they are a chapped, bleeding mess – and these days I glove for the messiest jobs to try to protect my hands. My darling husband gave me the super-strong fisherman’s hand type lotion for Christmas. Despite practically bathing in the stuff my hands are still cracked and bleeding.

Yesterday morning was like any other day. By 7:30am I had already had a fairly crappy morning. Literally. I start every morning by walking our dog. That involves crap. Yesterday morning was no different.

Then I returned home from my dog walk to a pile of VERY soiled linen on the laundry room floor. Clearly the child had exploded during the night shift. Matthew is on antibiotics after all. Diarrhoea is a normal result. Please bear in mind that my son is now 17 years old and quite large. We are not talking adorable little newborn diapers and stuff here.

I tackled the laundry.

And then, about ten minutes later, Matthew had a seizure. Seizures in the morning are not uncommon and we don’t get too excited. Matthew’s seizures, at least right now, are brief, self-limiting, and not too concerning. We just keep an eye on him and make sure he’s okay. But one of the consequences of a seizure includes a loaded brief. And this time “it” evaded the brief and was everywhere.   All over him, his bed, his linens, his pjs. AAAAAAAAARGH.

So I started round two of the morning clean up. The kid. The bed. The clothes. The linen. Me. By this time I have been awake for less than an hour, for the record, and for most of that hour I have been elbow deep in poop. It’s going to be an awesome day.

My husband, who throughout all this had been reading the Globe in the kitchen while sipping coffee (not bitter here, nope), walked into the laundry room in his tidy suit to say good-bye before heading to work. I forget how it came up, but I admitted that most mornings I can laugh about spending the first hour of my day dealing with poop, but today seemed a little less amusing. He cracked some joke about my crappy life and thought he was very punny.

I love him so I don’t actually plan to strangle him.


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