Probably, Too Much Information

Have I mentioned that Tova's been walking for almost 2-months now? Since then, my System has gone to the dogs (the dog from the previous post). Clearly, Tova's walking has everything to do with it.

For example, I have found Petra's toothbrush in the toilet. I had to pretend something else terrible went and happened to it, otherwise Petra would have shrieked her brains out. She loves that ding little baby of ours, but it would upset her dreadfully to learn that her toothbrush passed away in a receptacle for . . . umm, you know. I told her we left it at Elise's, that held her.

Tova's walking is also the reason why I fell 17-loads behind on laundry this week. I fell behind 17-loads! If Tova weren't walking, I wouldn't have to wash her socks. Socks are an awful thing. Plus, in her new found height, Tova pulls the drying clothes off the line and drags them around on the sidewalk chalk covered patio to the point where they need rewashing. With walking comes confidence, with confidence comes more dirt on the clothes and in the mouth, with more dirt in the mouth comes nasty out of diaper experiences.

On top of that 17-loads of laundry (not to mention this week's 24 that I need to get started on) I'm still playing catch-up from last week's of episode Me vs. the Clean House. Tova goes from room to room depositing things where they're not supposed to be, her hands are free so she can carry stuff around now. Little trinkets of the girls' suddenly appear in the grass outside. Lars' socks, from the Clean Sock Basket, end up in her mouth as she traverses 4-rooms in the house to end up plinking her baby fingies on the piano near the dining room.

Today, Tova snuffled herself awake at 7:10 a.m., which meant I had a narrow window in which to Booby Snack her before she got up and started poking around on her baby feetsies; not to mention, I had to scram for my 8 o'clock patient. On top of that, today was a big day at work. Today was the day in which we were having our TG potluck. I made an apple-raspberry pie. It needed to be impressive and dramatic, from taste to presentation and most importantly to where it happened to be displayed on the long table in the break room. Very important.

I had to get out of the house to procure a good spot!

Tovey snacked. Then I raced to get dressed (can't get dressed before feeding the Tovesters, otherwise I end up with drool and snot on my professional clothes), throwing on my fabulous Bohemian outfit in a jiff. With time to spare I peeled out the door, kissing the kids and husband in my wake. Breathlessly, I scooted in the car with my beautiful pie, sliding across my driver's seat only to incur a wedgie in the process.

The pie and I arrived in one piece. I got the coveted spot on the break-room table, and then went about my day seeing patients happily and without trials or tribulations. Except one thing, that wedgie I had from the morning slide across my car seat seemed to be unpickable. Inoperable. Granted, I was wearing my new cute undies designed to make behinds coveted by all who gaze upon them and to reignite passions in marriages that have gotten ho-hum. But still, I'd worn this particular pair before without any problems.

No time to bother, had patients to see. Babies to scan. Mamas to reassure. Endocervical cells to collect. Lumps to diagnose. And, oh dear me, there was the matter of that most impressive pie. Finally, our lunch hour arrived, with my panties in a bunch I plunked down in a chair amidst all my colleagues. I watched them devour my pie, licking their lips, oohing and ahhing with pleasure. Of course, I felt completely satisfied. Happy, well, except for the undie deal. But as a dehydrated breastfeeding mother, I never have to void and so no reason to stop at the WC to check the situation of the unpluckable undi-grundi.

End of the day arrived, I raced the kids into the house, headed straight for my room to change out of my work clothes and whaddya know?! My undies -- inside out and on backwards! Well, I'll be damned if that doesn't explain it all. With little time to dress this morning, chasing after Tova with my arms barely pulled through my dress and all this in the darkness of daylight savings it's no wonder. If Tova just blobbed around in her bed like a good baby should, then absolutely none of this would have happened.

On another note, it's a great professional advantage. Now, when my patients call me with complaints of discomfort in their nethers I will firstly advise them to check which way they happen to be wearing their skivvies that day (then charge 'em $70 bucks for treating them).