I need eight arms, or ten, or twelve. I also need about 300 hours of sleep, and that's even after my awesome husband has been sleeping in the living room to tend to the baby at night. I'm a mess. :)
Yesterday...
At about 1:30pm I sat down on the couch next to Abigail to pump. (Sorry guys, but it's a part of the deal.) I put the movie "Cars" on for Parker to entertain him. As I was pumping I noticed Parker leaning on the glass door on our entertainment center. I threatened him with time out then reached over to try to console Abigail's crying. Just at that moment, I heard a crash and looked up to see P laying in a pile of broken glass. The door to the entertainment center had shattered from his weight.
I dropped everything, and ran over to pick him up out of the glass. (Oh yes, he also didn't have a shirt on because he decided to lick the peanut butter and jelly out of his sandwich for lunch. ) He had blood all over him. I reached over and found two breastfeeding pads (Sorry again, guys.) to wipe off the blood. After a quick bath he ended up with only a few scrapes. I cried.
Then, 3 hours later I actually got to sit down to pump again after cleaning up the glass.
I love my family. I love my kids. I really love my husband. But, I need eight arms. (Or thumbs on my feet would work too.)
Our now ghetto entertainment center.
"Rocket" is the only thing that keeps P occupied during feeding time.
