THAT sort of day

So yesterday was supposed to be a day of rest. And, in the end, it really was a nice day. But there was a point at which, had I had the time, I would have dashed in here to blog about it, simply because it was so unbelievably awful, and ended it up with

'I simply MUST scream.

'AAAAUUUGHHH!

'There. I feel much better.'

That post did not have time to get written, but I will chronicle it in all its gory details, glossed over and brushed up by the light of day.

The backdrop involves the cheap diapers we've been using for Jane, about which we can't complain because they were a gift, but which are so bad at - ahem - containment as to be virtually worthless. It's gotten to the point where feedings are interrupted at the first indication of a grunt on Jane's part, while I whisk her off to the changing tabe in an attempt to catch whatever there may be before it gets onto her clothes and then, in quick progression, onto me, the chair, the boppy, the carpet, etc. At night it's simply a - well, a nightmare. I will inevitably awaken her for her middle-of-the-night feeding to find yellow goo overflowing through her clothes and usually spreading itself through the blankets, which involves a trek to the bathroom to start the water running (and the hot water takes a lo-o-o-o-ong time to reach the second bathroom), peeling off her clothes gingerly in an attempt to minimise smear over any of the rest of her body which may not yet be affected, hoping I remembered to turn off the baby monitor so Michael won't be awakened by the din, having to turn on all the lights to clean things up so it ends up that she's good and awake and has to be put down altogether again...all in all, it turns into a grueling ordeal on a much more regular occurrence than it should. For all this, I might as well be using cloth diapers.

And that's only setting the stage. Saturday night had been such a night. I awoke with one count against me. Off we dashed to church, after which went out to eat at a nice Thai place that we just discovered, which has excellent prices and delicious food. Unfortunately my goal of talking all about the marriage questionnaire we completed in our Young Marrieds Sunday school class was thwarted by Jane getting fussy in the restaurant, of all places. For such a perfect baby to suddenly go weepy on me in public (and I don't even believe in taking young children to nice restaurants unless they can behave themselves properly) made me feel all Ugly-American-ish and apologetic and flustered. We dashed out of there, lunch wrapped to go, which meant, of course, on such a hot day, that I mustn't linger along the way. Back to church to drop Michael off for Fiddler rehearsal. Last week's rehearsal, a complete run-through of Act I, lasted over six hours. The director informed us that this one would be much shorter. I dreamily contemplated a nice long afternoon nap and a pleasant dinner with friends who offered to bring Michael home after practise. But it was not to be.

Traffic to get to the highway was backed up, so I took what should have been a shortcut and ended up spending nearly half an hour just getting to the highway, fighting idiot drivers who couldn't make lane changes or run green lights in crummy neighbourhoods while Baby whimpered and then cried for her long-overdue lunch from the backseat. Car still hot. Food probably spoiling rapidly. Back home at long last, where I spotted the glass of chocolate milk I'd poured before leaving for church sitting on the counter, of course rotten by now. At least managed not to spill it on the carpet while dumping it down the drain before headed to Baby's room to take her out of car seat, only to trip over pile of messy blankets left in doorway to be dealt with later. Suddenly remembered baby outfit soaking in yellow goo in guest bath sink, messy diaper left unfolded and thrown away on changing table, and lack of clean onesies to change Baby into as said onesies were all in the laundry basket in laundry room, some washed, some not. Off to the laundry room to dig through laundry basket. Did I remember to take ground beef out of freezer this morning to make casserole with which to feed guests tonight? Oh, and must pack Michael's lunch before said guests arrive, as no telling how late they may stay. Message machine blinking, which reminds me suddenly that yesterday I told someone to call me today at one, completely forgetting that it would be Sunday, which means that I now have to return a phone call which would NOT stress me out under normal circumstances but, dash it all, can't things have the goodness not to all happen at once?? Back to the nursery again, only to trip over the rocker which has no business being there. The boppy falls to the floor, meaning I must bend over to pick it up, and I still haven't changed out of my Sunday clothes yet or kicked off the uncomfortable sandals....It was at this point that the camel's back broke. It wasn't the day itself that got to me so much as the thought that I might have days and days on end like this, and the thought that the doorbell might ring in the midst of it all instead of Fate leaving me to wallow in my misery in private. So that's why I wanted to scream, to banish all that nervous tension so that I might get on with feeling better all the sooner. Instead I simply toiled away at the grindstone until all the fires were put out, and had to content myself with feeling better by degrees. There was no nap. But there was sparkling cider and a game of Clue at the end of the day, so it was a happy ending after all.

And, by the philosophical light of day, I must remind myself that if that sort of day is so unbelievably bad and out of the ordinary as to merit notice, then I really must have it all right. Trifles, trifles!