I Look Like a Zombie (and Smell Like One, Too!)

It is Friday, the day that I now generally shamble aimlessly about the house like a mindless zombie, reduced to this state by sleep deprivation.  I wander from room to room, trying to remember why I’m there. My sleepy brain interprets this as low blood sugar, and decides to send some hunger pangs my way.  “I bet you would feel better if you ate those leftover mashed potatoes with sour cream and the leftover roasted corn relish. And the ribs with the brown sugar rub. Yeah.  Lots and lots of carbs. That would make you feel better!” says that lying, sleep-deprived brain.  So I walk into a bedroom looking for diapers for the baby, ask myself why I’m there, don’t remember, and empty the laundry hamper and walk out to do the laundry.  Baby Lila is crying, and I remember I’m supposed to change her diaper. So I walk back to get a diaper. By the time I get into the hallway, I forget why I’m there, and I walk back with the dirty clothes from another bedroom laundry hamper. I drop them on the pile of dirty clothes from the first hamper, decide to go back to look for a diaper (again), but take the baby with me so that hopefully I will remember what I’m looking for this time. 

I have noticed that there are no such things as big ol’ fat zombies on the Walking Dead, so I suppose you would have to come to MY HOUSE to see an example of what a big ol’ fat zombie looks like in real life.  I do not know why the television zombies in Georgia are all skinny. I have lived in Georgia.  I know the truth. There would not be a whole lot of anorexic zombies in Georgia except the meth heads.  Everybody else is just too good in the kitchen and at the grill.

Baby Lila was so happy and lively this morning at 7 a.m.! She smiled and cooed happily at me. She kicked her feet. She sucked her fingers noisily, then my shoulder when I picked her up. I warmed her bottle and gave it to her. Then she gave it right back to me, erupting like a volcano of milk. Yeeeeuuk. My shorts were drenched. My shirt was drenched. My little baby Lila was drenched. And my lazy reclining rocking chair was drenched. I changed her clothes. I changed my clothes. I washed the recliner. I told her firmly that I did not think she was hungry AT ALL! She smiled and waved her feet happily at me. I wish I could report that I have had time to take a shower, but that would be wrong. Now I smell like rotten cheese. But the laundry is drying on the line, so at least I have something to feel good about myself for today.  “See there!” you might say. “You are doing okay. You at least remembered to do the laundry!”  Yeah, big whoop. I dropped it in the middle of the floor where I would trip over it if I didn’t wash it.  No big memory component involved there. 

Former DIL called today to apologize because she had invited Lila, Zoe, and me to accompany her to the zoo this week. She had a big order come in to her small business, and wasn’t able to get away.  She was afraid that I would be unhappy or disappointed. “Honey, I just barely managed to get away to the grocery store yesterday with just two of them, and didn’t manage to make it back before the boys got home from school.  There is no way I would have been able to get away to the zoo for several hours!” I told her. 

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4 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    kcduffy said,

    Yahoo doin’ good work. I think babies like the smell of rotting cheese till they’re about 4, which probably isn’t a big comfort, eh? 😀

  2. 3

    swampie said,

    ROFL! Keep me in your thoughts next Thursday because I gotta take the little munchkin and 3-year-old sister with me to a hospital in Georgia as mom as getting a biopsy under general anesthesia; they will decide where to have surgery after that.


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