Saturday, 19 May 2012

Margaritaville meets Saw 15... or whatever number they're on now...

It's May 24th weekend. Normally this sparks a desire in both Brad and I to consume enormous amounts of alcohol in a tent somewhere, however this weekend we were both more than content to have zero plans. We are both still exhausted from New Orleans, and our credit cards are even more so. A nice quiet weekend with our little family was exactly what we were in the mood for. 

I had made plans to go to a movie with Ashley last night, and Brad had some pretty serious plans to go golfing this morning, so our Friday night was obviously going to be a quiet, bed early kind of evening. This took a turn for the worse pretty quickly though with some nice weather. 

Brad got a text from his best friend early in the day, encouraging him to pick up some beer for a long weekend/sunny day celebration. Being the proud owner of two rubber arms, Bradley did so. Along with this, Ashley decided she was going to be an idiot and have the stomach flu, thus ruining our plans (I know, I need to get some better friends). When Kate, Brad's buddy's girlfriend and one of my favorite friends (his buddy's name is Boner, by the way - don't get me started) learned that my plans had been cancelled, she decided she would pop over after her supper plans to hang out... and bring a third party and long lost friend of mine - José Cuervo. 

Friday night was quickly spiraling out of control. 

Avery went down with minimal issues, as usual, and Kate got to our place at about 9:30 or so. We poured ourselves some fair sized frozen margaritas, and settled in to catch up on our week... and to catch up with the boys...

Avery woke at 5:30 and I blindly stumbled downstairs, mixed her a bottle quickly, gave it to her in her crib (the only way to do it for us now as when I try to rock her or lie down with her all she wants to do is roll over and climb on me), and snuggled back down into my own bed as the sun crept up. I vaguely remember Brad's alarm going off and hearing him rustle about the bedroom as he got ready for golf. 

I awoke sometime later to Avery's protesting whines. I opened one eye, looked at my phone and saw that it was 10:38am. 


This was amazing! Whose baby sleeps until almost twenty to eleven on a Saturday morning? Clearly my child was one in a million and the most amazing baby ever born. I loved her so much!

I sat up to learn that I had a slight headache and a little bit of queasiness (which surprised me as I had only drank 2 margaritas and had stopped at 11:30, but my ability to handle alcohol has gone significantly downhill since giving birth), but nothing that a six pack of nuggets couldn't cure. I trotted across the hall, opened up my little princess' bedroom door... and had my nostrils assaulted. 

The emanation of urine and feces coming from her crib was strong enough to make my eyes water. There was a faint, repetative thudding noise, which I deduced could only be all of the flies in Paradise, flinging themselves at her bedroom window, desperate to get in. As I got closer, I saw my sweet little angel, diaper hanging off her (she had gone to bed in a onesie), sitting in a puddle of pee, and splashing her hands on the soaking wet sheets. When she saw me, she beamed. 

I can't quite recall the order in which all of the four letter words and religious slurs I could think of flew out of my mouth, so I'm not even going to attempt to quote myself. I do know that in a frantic attempt to obtain some help, I tried calling Brad on the golf course. I'm not sure what I thought he was going to do for me. Come home maybe and help me disinfect Avery's crib, which now somewhat resembled a prison shithouse? 

He never picked up. Divorce!! 

I carried Avery at arms length to the bathroom, peeled her clothing off her, removed some of the poo with toilet paper, and deposited her in the empty bathtub. I then ran back into her room, stripped her bed and threw all the bed sheets, etc, into the wash. I frantically searched for a wash setting that said something to the tune of "cremation", or even better, "bed sheet holocaust", but settled for the two hour "sanitation" cycle. 

I ran back into the bathroom, ran the tub, scrubbed her till she bled (almost), let the water out, washed the tub, and repeated. I then threw a diaper on her and proceeded to gather the Clorox and some rubber gloves so that I could tackle the usually gleaming white crib. Avery sat on the floor and dismantled her basket of diapers. 

As most of my readers know, I have seen my fair share of up the backers. I have seen shitty diapers that would make grown men fall to their knees, weeping tears of mercy. This though, this was something else. This is something that would make the writers of Saw tremble. Let me tell you, I know that I would sooner cut my own leg off than be chained to that crib this morning. 

I managed to get the crib, mattress, sheets, comforter, and baby all sanitized without losing any of last night's margaritas, but let me tell ya, it's not something I look forward to doing again. Also, let it be known that for the first time in the history of my life I was unable to finish my dirty feed of greasy nuggetness. Unheard of. 

All in all, I blame Ashley for getting the stomach flu, as well as Kate for suggesting margaritas. What a couple of bitches. If I had gone on to the movie before coming home to bed this probably still would have happened, but at least I wouldn't have been hungover at the same time. Needless to say I put five diapers on Avery tonight and two pairs of sleepers. That little bugger wouldn't be able to get at her diaper tonight even if she had a flashlight and a pair of scissors... lesson learned. Drinking Gatorade tonight. 

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