Despite my icy cool exterior, this is me on the inside. No, that's not true, because it's also me every time my boys are in the same room together. I don't know if it's just the stress of mommy being in the hospital and their routine being screwed up or they're just trying to break me, but for the last week, if they are awake, they are fighting. And the ridiculous crap they're fighting about?! I know my brother and I fought all the time when we were younger, but at least it was over normal things, like he was looking at me. They've fought so much lately that they've run out of things to fight about and are now inventing shit just so they can keep going. No. It must be some kind of plot. Take their last hair wash day, for example:
Connor: Hey, when daddy gives you the cloth to put over your eyes, start crying that it's dark.
Liam: That it's dark? But that's crazy. I want the cloth to keep the water out of my eyes?
Connor: I KNOW! Daddy won't know what to do.
Liam: That's brilliant! You know what would make it better though? When I'm done you should start laughing at me and calling me a baby.
Connor: High five!
*slaps*
Oh ya, it's a barrel o' laughs. Supreme Leader is still in the hospital. She and the baby are fine, but the doctor wants to keep her in until she has hit 32 weeks. Then he'll re-evaluate and go from there. Which might just be placating us and he has no intention of letting her go. We'll see next week. It could be worse though, there's another woman on her floor who has been in for eight weeks already. She's at the same stage as Supreme Leader and isn't leaving until the baby is born. Then there's the woman whose hooha had to be sewn shut to keep baby in there until its due date. It's all a matter of perspective, right?
Whose or who's? Whatever. I'd care but my throat is on fire and I have some kind of funky rash on my neck and chest. With all the running around and trips to the hospital and the never ending stress of my beloved children trying to crack my head open like a piñata I've managed to catch whatever hideous cold Connor had a few weeks ago. Either that or I need to bathe. Or I'm actually already dead and all that processed cheese and those Big Mac Meals are somehow slowing my decomp. Meh, I'm sure the kids will have me stuffed so they can keep tormenting me. And they don't want their baby brother to miss out on all the fun.
And now I'll go upstairs and make sure they're tucked in and their room is warm enough and I'll look down on their peaceful little faces and I'll forget the screaming banshees that they were earlier and maybe I'll even feel a little guilty for getting angry at them so much and promise myself to go a little easier on them tomorrow. Then they'll wake up tomorrow morning and Connor will start glaring at Liam for having the audacity to be happy in the morning instead of a troll like him and the circle of life will continue on as it should.
PS. I just found this after publishing the post and HAD to add it. Please note, this should not be taken as an announcement from the Dumbass family, we are not having twins and Supreme Leader's name is not Jennifer (though, this being a blog, it should be).
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