You know how they say the older you get, the more you turn into your mother? I think Scarlett is starting early. Very early.
The other day, I promised her we would go outside and take a walk after her nap. So we did. It had been raining that morning, so there were puddles. Scarlett loves puddles. Ordinarily, I must steer her around them while saying, "No splashing, no splashing, no splashing" to make sure she doesn't jump right in with her flip-flops on. Sigh. But since we weren't going anywhere? I figured, let her have fun.
So she splashed. And jumped. And stomped. She soon had mud splattered all the way up to her little ankles. The laces of her pink tennis shoes were soaked brown.
Then, with wet shoes? She started to run. I was on my cell, having a serious conversation with my best friend (also a mother of two) in which I had to get everything out as fast as possible before disaster struck and someone's kid started screaming. That someone's kid? Turned out to be mine.
Scarlett tripped and fell on the sidewalk, dramatically scraping her knees and her right palm. Sigh. I can't run either. So I don't. Ever. Ask Michael.
Fixing her up required a whole lotta Neosporin and four Bandaids. That's the most Bandaids she's ever needed at one time! A record!
So today, it is naptime. Scarlett will burst into tears at least once about going to sleep at the best of times. I have finally managed to get her in her bed and close the door. Barely a minute passes before she starts freaking. Out.
Michael goes in to see what is wrong, and I follow. What is wrong? Is that she has been picking at the bandaid on her knee, and it is starting to come off. Sigh. We reassure her that her bandaid is fine, that she needs to leave it alone and go to sleep, and if she needs it, we will get her a new one when she wakes up. All is well. We close the door.
Sosie has fallen asleep sitting in her swing. But she also has a poopy diaper. I can't leave her like that. Sigh.
I lay her down to change her, hoping that maybe she will stay asleep through the whole thing. Sosie has other ideas. She opens her eyes... and starts projectile vomiting. She is spewing up formula in dramatic arcs that shoot across the room. She is like Exorcist baby. All I can do is hold her up so that she doesn't choke on her own vomit and wait until she stops. While her diaper is off, and her little butt is still poopy because I wasn't finished wiping it. Sigh.
Michael is not so good with bodily fluids. It is all he can do not to vomit himself. He is no use to me.
Once Sosie stops being a Fountain of Formula, I finish wiping her and then lay her down so I can go run her a bath. While the water is running? I hear Scarlett start screaming again. I go and see what in the world is wrong now.
What is wrong? Is the goddamn Bandaid. I pull it off entirely, tell her that she can have another one when she wakes up, and tell her to go. To. SLEEP. When I come back out to take Sosie to her bath, I feel like saying to Michael, "We have the highest-strung kid in the whole friggin' universe!"( It should be "most high-strung" but when I am all exasperated? I don't think grammatically.)
But I don't say anything. Because you know who she takes after? Me. Damn.