The Middle of a Mess

When I try to describe it all to people I usually end up crying, either from laughing so hard or actually losing it. Here's what I mean:

Someone will casually ask, "How's the baby?"

"Oh, he's had three burst eardrums and five total ear infections since Feb. 3, a nasty case of eczema, just got over chicken pox, gave himself a black eye in the crib, got a bad tummy rash from antibiotics, has explosive poo from antibiotics, just cut two molars and sees a doctor and chiropractor weekly. And we've scheduled his first appointment for surgery, to insert ear tubes. He's great."

See what I mean?

It's been a rough seven weeks and throw on top an enormous blizzard, very busy work schedules, a horrible flood threatening our city (we live a block from the river) and the fact that we're gearing up to sell our old house Friday (finally) and you'll have to excuse me.

It brings me back to life with a colicky baby. As an outsider, you pop in for an hour or two, listen to the baby cry and think, "well, it wouldn't be fun, but I could handle this."

As an insider, who's listened to a baby scream for at least eight hours a day for about five weeks, you're thinking "I'm not going to make it!" The screaming has worn you down, day after day to about 5 percent of your actual self. Then, that 5 percent is supposed to do 100 percent of the work you usually take on. I'm a words person, but even I know that's not good math.

That's what it feels like now. I know in the back of my mind, and my heart, that we'll get through all of this just fine. It's nothing tragic. But at five percent, it feels a little tragic.

Just hand me some tissues before you ask about the baby.