You know how in Old School Will Ferrel says he and his wife have “a pretty nice little Saturday [planned], we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know.” (I hate that movie, but my husband loves it).
Anyway, that’s how I felt about our night. Thomas had a golf outing in Minnesota today, so Meg and I were on our own and I had a nice little night planned. I had to leave work early to pick her up, which was something to look forward to (who doesn’t like to leave early!) Then, we were going to go to the grocery store and use my coupon out of the super-special coupon book my husband managed to snag to get a free rotisserie chicken with the purchase of Lipton sides (on sale!). I loooove the Cheddar Broccoli, even though I’m sure its terrible for me. White pasta, powdered cheese sauce, dehydrated broccoli. I don’t care. I love it.
Plus, as a bonus, the grocery store has a Starbucks, so I was going to get a treat for myself. We did all that, then came home and had the easiest dinner ever. Rotisserie chicken, canned green beans, and blueberries. A little high on sodium, but still a pretty good dinner. After clearing away dinner, I put Meg in the bath, soaped her up, rinsed her off, then sat next to the bathtub with my latte and a book. She splashed and I read. It was nice.
I’m trying with all my might to focus on the night up to that point. Because after that it all went to hell. She threw a tantrum when I took her out of the tub (and I’d let her stay in extra long). I fought her to get her lotioned, diapered, and in pajamas. Then I went to the kitchen to warm a bottle and found all the nipples and rings were dirty. So I started washing them.
Meg came in and opened the cabinet under the sink. I said no. She reached in. I said no, close the cabinet. So she did. Then she opened it again. I said NO and closed it. She opened it again, grabbed a sponge, and ran off. I let it go, because I just wanted to finish washing the bottles. She came back and opened the door again. I said NO. She reached for the Fantastik. I freaked out, screamed at her, picked her up, took her to her room, dumped her in the crib, and closed the door.
I felt terrible. Its all my fault, anyway. I’ve been meaning to throw out the Fantastik (we use a vinegar/water solution to clean now) and I’ve really been meaning to put a child-proof lock the cabinet under the sink. If I’d have just done my job as a parent, it wouldn’t have happened. But I told her four times not to play under the sink and I just snapped.
I finished washing the bottles, warmed one for her, then went to her room. She was still crying. I apologized for yelling and hugged her. I gave her the bottle, snuggled, and read The Foot Book five times. Then, I turned off the lights, sang her a lullaby, and put her to bed.
And went to my room and cried.