Do you ever...

...just have one of those days?

Yesterday started out pretty rough. Getting out of bed physically hurt as my lower back spasmed as I made my way to the shower. I was unable to wash my hair because my hands were numb and hurting from the creeping carpal tunnel syndrome that has gotten worse with every pregnancy.

Once dressed and greeting the boys for the morning, I no sooner sat down with a cup of coffee when my birthday boy grabbed a stack of paper I had been working on and ran it to the bathroom, promptly throwing the lot into the toilet. No one had to remind him that he turned two that day...

After some discipline and some mumbled words under my breath, I caught sight of the little one's sagging pants and ran him back to the bathroom where a diarrhea explosion took place all over the floor. Little one in the tub, big boy still waiting for a morning drink, I tried as hard as I could to keep perspective that it was just 9am, that the day couldn't possibly go on like this much longer.

But, it did.

At 11:30 I had run out of ideas and patience, so I did what any reasonable person would do and put the boys in the car and went to McDonald's for lunch. After multiple trips down the Playplace slide, my hope was that the boys would be worn out enough to nap all afternoon. Piling the kids back in the van, my mindset kept me going, "I only have to make it until naptime....I only have to make it until naptime."

At home, a test of the wills took place as the newly-turned two-year-old decided that a nap wasn't necessary on his birthday. What took place then was a two hour battle that left me crying and Paul without a nap.

A few hours later Mark walked in the door to me crying, an over-tired two year old clung to my aching hip, and a four year old who had witnessed enough toddler and pregnancy drama for one day. Thank God for freezer food and its ease of preparing on nights like these, and as soon as the kids were fed, I went to my bedroom, shut the door and didn't come out until bedtime.

Once the kids were in bed, I went to bed, too.

This morning, before I even attempted to move out of bed, I whispered pleading prayers not only for a better day, but for the graces to cope with whatever came up. After all, kids are kids, but when you're nine months pregnant, the ability to deal with them in effective ways becomes greatly compromised.

Our sleeping arrangements have been in cahoots lately trying to acclimate Paul to sleeping in Luke's room, and Mark reluctantly gave in to Luke's request to sleep with him in his bed. I woke up to Mark saying that Luke was up all night puking. Whoa! As I cautiously ate saltines for breakfast, Luke climbed out of bed embarrassed. He had had an accident in his bed. Not wetting the bed, no, but had lost his bowel function along with his vomiting.

With both boys now in the tub and my day scoped out pretty well with washing soiled sheets and pajamas, I am reminded of the prayer I said not only two hours ago. I will cope better with this today. The kids need me now. Not the emotional and physical wreck they encountered yesterday, but the mother they deserve when they're sick and need special care and cleaning.

Here we go!

*UPDATE* The big boy keeps going through his underpants and the little guy just projectiled over my last fitting pair of maternity pants. Cotton pajama pants it is for me, and logically, I put on Bambi for the kids and called it a day.

(On a side note, my kids puke all the time, I'm used to it and not too concerned. But me, oh heavens. Please pray that *I* don't start puking. Puking and pregnancy are a REALLY unfortunate situation for me, and I really, really, really don't want to end up in the hospital. And, as tempted as I am to go into labor right now, I still really need at least one more week. Thank you!!)