If motherhood has taught me anything, it has taught me to be dirty. Not dirrrrty like xtina dirty. Dirty like pick-my-son's-nose-and-wipe-it-on-my-jeans dirty. I think it stems from not having the time and energy to be as pristine as I used to be.
For example, showers have become an every-other-day occurrence. When I'm home alone with Corbin during the day, sometimes I'll wear a t-shirt with a little bit of spit up/drool/formula/what-is-that? on it until I can't take it any longer. Why so nasty? Because if I change shirts every time that happens, I'll be changing shirts 73 times a day and THAT adds up to a lot of laundry. Plus, I run out of shirts.
I remember when Corbin was first born and doing his laundry was "fun." I didn't mind changing his outfit 73 times a day because everything was oh-so-tiny and cute. "Uh-oh - he dribbled a little milk on his collar. Better change him." "Ya know, he's been wearing that onesie for a couple hours now, I really think he could use a fresh one." Now I find myself taking a wipe to that little smudge of poo because I JUST put that outfit on him. There are, of course, exceptions. I won't let him sit in a dirty diaper. Granted, I don't sit and wait with anticipation for that little yellow line to turn blue anymore, but I do make sure he's fresh. Fresher than me, anyway.
So this leads me to today. Or rather, this morning. I put Corbin in bed with me after his 5:30 feeding. This has become a guilty pleasure of mine. Yes, I know I'm creating bad habits, blah blah blah. But this is my story so shush and listen. Anyway, when we got up around 8:30 am, I noticed something wet on the sheets. Now, I'm no stranger to getting a little formula on the sheets when I needed a burp cloth at 3:00 am (do not judge lest ye be judged!), or a little boob leakage now and then. But this morning I guess ole C man was feeling a wee bit full and decided to pee through his diaper and leak onto my bed. Do you know what the sad part was? I actually considered leaving it.
Before you throw a bar of soap at me, hear me out. I just washed the sheets less than a week ago. Washing them again would force me to take them off the bed, remove my laundry from the dryer, put last night's load into the dryer, wash and dry the sheets, and put them back on the bed. Sounds simple, but when limited "free" time makes you choose between eating, cleaning, personal hygiene, and pumping, the last thing you want to do is remake the bed. And after all, it was just baby pee. Baby pee is practically water, right? Riiiiight.
Being a mother means making sacrifices. And since the pee was on my side of the bed, I made the executive decision to postpone my breakfast and wash the sheets.
So, while I'm willing to put a lil boogy on my jeans or let C Man tough out a dirty onesie for half a day, I draw the line when it comes to tinkle where I lay my head.
Just so you don't think I'm lying about actually washing the sheets, here is photographic evidence that the removal of the sheets did in fact occur:
For example, showers have become an every-other-day occurrence. When I'm home alone with Corbin during the day, sometimes I'll wear a t-shirt with a little bit of spit up/drool/formula/what-is-that? on it until I can't take it any longer. Why so nasty? Because if I change shirts every time that happens, I'll be changing shirts 73 times a day and THAT adds up to a lot of laundry. Plus, I run out of shirts.
I remember when Corbin was first born and doing his laundry was "fun." I didn't mind changing his outfit 73 times a day because everything was oh-so-tiny and cute. "Uh-oh - he dribbled a little milk on his collar. Better change him." "Ya know, he's been wearing that onesie for a couple hours now, I really think he could use a fresh one." Now I find myself taking a wipe to that little smudge of poo because I JUST put that outfit on him. There are, of course, exceptions. I won't let him sit in a dirty diaper. Granted, I don't sit and wait with anticipation for that little yellow line to turn blue anymore, but I do make sure he's fresh. Fresher than me, anyway.
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| just chillin on mama's pillow |
Before you throw a bar of soap at me, hear me out. I just washed the sheets less than a week ago. Washing them again would force me to take them off the bed, remove my laundry from the dryer, put last night's load into the dryer, wash and dry the sheets, and put them back on the bed. Sounds simple, but when limited "free" time makes you choose between eating, cleaning, personal hygiene, and pumping, the last thing you want to do is remake the bed. And after all, it was just baby pee. Baby pee is practically water, right? Riiiiight.
Being a mother means making sacrifices. And since the pee was on my side of the bed, I made the executive decision to postpone my breakfast and wash the sheets.
So, while I'm willing to put a lil boogy on my jeans or let C Man tough out a dirty onesie for half a day, I draw the line when it comes to tinkle where I lay my head.
Just so you don't think I'm lying about actually washing the sheets, here is photographic evidence that the removal of the sheets did in fact occur:
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