I’m not talking about children. What I will say, is that I have essentially become my own child.
Remember when you had your first child and you had to prepare to go on an errand or to simply leave the house?
I recall packing the standard: diapers, bottles, cleaning wipes, plastic bags, change of clothing, snacks, changing pad and rattle into my diaper bag and reaching down to get my child that was already changed prior… and I’d find more shit. She’d shit her way out of her diaper, would need an entire bath and shampooing, and by the time I’d be finished…she would need to eat and therefore, no trip to anywhere.
That’s me minus shitting my way out of my diaper- and while I did purchase while in Fla with Bubbie, I’ve only worn them once; I cannot chance sneezing/laughing and sissying full bladders sans.
It seems that since having my hoo hoo tampered with, all I do is x3. And it’s not so much the x that is the issue (although, enough is enough; I look great) but the aftermath; I must use a bottle and wipees.
With my Ninja Mama, to the sink with my feet in cuffs (my pants by my ankles), waiting for the warm water to come, filling and shuffling back and forth like Molly Pitcher, as if shpray can fix it. Sure, I am supposed to also use wipes but the hole to retrieve the wipes is for toddler fingers only and so most of the time, the package is torn open the way one rips into a bag of sour cream and cheddar chips – causing them to be dried out- much like my eh eh, as of late.
So, the twos are terrible. What’s not so terrible, is the cancer.