It’s only 2pm, and wow, it’s been a doozy so far.

This morning starting with both kids waking up early. Insanely early. My solution to this was to put on Sesame Street, give them both a smoothie, and go back to bed. Responsible parenthood at its finest. I thought I would just doze for a few minutes, but I awoke to India (my alomst-2-wear-old) screaming at Jafta because he turned off the tv during the ending credits to Sesame Street. This was my first indication that I was in trouble. Sesame Street is the only way I am able to take a shower and get ready in the morning. If I haven’t completed my shower by the time I hear Elmo’s World, I know I am not gonna get one. But since I took a run last night and then crashed in my sweaty hair, it just wasn’t an option.

I convinced India to take a shower with me, because that way only Jafta would be unattended while I washed my stinky hair. While I was drying off, India was naked for maybe two minutes. During that time, she managed to walk into her brother’s room and take a poop in the middle of the floor. Jafta alerted me to the situation, and then threw his pillow on top to cover the offense. Which just mushed the poop further across the floor. I walked in, not also noticing that she simultaneously peed on the floor, and managed to slip in pee and find my toweled self in a split pose I haven’t managed since 8th grade gymnastics. It hurt. A lot.

I wasn’t sure what to clean up first: my daughter, myself, or the floor. I took India to the bathroom to get her started washing her hands, wiped my feet off, and then hoofed it back to the hazmat situation in the bedroom. Now, cleaning up poop is always a deplorable act. But when you have the Super-Human Pregnancy Sense of Smell working against you, it’s awful. But I managed to clean it up. Or so I thought. More on that later.

While I am cleaning up, India is standing at the sink and emptying an entire bottle of self-foaming hand soap onto the floor. It looks like a foam party in Cabo by the time I get back. (not that I’ve ever been to a foam party, mind you But I would love to know how they clean that crap up, because I find it rather difficult).

The kids have been going a little stir-crazy due to the fact that my morning sickness makes me want to lay around all day. My kids hate being at home, and were begging to go somewhere. Now I have also been trying to maintain some level of fitness during this pregnancy, so I figured we could kill two birds with one stone and take a walk to the local farmer’s market.

The farmer’s market is about a mile and a half from our house, and typically I don’t consider that to be a huge challenge. What I failed to consider, however, is that I set out for this journey during my nearly-comatose period of the day (11am) on a day when I was already feeling the pregnancy exhaustion setting in. If you note my previous Pregnancy Productivity Chart, I am typically not doing a whole lot of anything during this part of the day, except for cooking a baby that seems to be sucking the energy out of every cell of my body.

So, about halfway to the farmer’s market, I start feeling a little tired. By the time the market was in sight, I was getting the feeling that I needed to sit down immediately. Maybe even lay down. But I trudged on, and tried to fight nausea as my kids sampled the array of fruits, tamales, and kettle corn from the vendors.

I forgot to mention that this morning Jafta also put his shorts on backwards, and they had a button (now in the back) that I didn’t bother buttoning. I was just to tired to care. So the entire time we were at the market, people are pointing out that my son has his shorts on backwards and his undies are hanging out. And each time, I laugh and thank them and pretend like I didn’t notice before. Oh, haha, that’s funny. Yes, that’s not right. We’ll have to fix that right away. Right.

Okay, time to go home. We’ve got a good half-hour walk ahead of us. By the point, I am feeling like I can barely make my legs move. We pass by a grassy area just outside the market, where several homeless people are sleeping. I seriously think about laying down, too. I wonder if I could ask one of them to keep an eye on my kids while I “rest my eyes” for a minute. Every fiber of my being is screaming at my to stop walking at lay down.

We keep going.

We come to a traffic light, where I completely space on pushing the walk button. I stand at the light for about ten minutes until I realize that I have just blacked out while standing up. I’ve lost time, and haven’t paid a bit of attention to the fact that we’ve missed six cycles of traffic. I shake myself out of it, focus my eyes, and push the button. It turns to the WALK signal immediately. Now Jafta (who is on a Razor) ignores my instructions to walk, and just kind of stands there in a daze. How dare he! So I actually nudge him across the street with the stroller.

I walk through the rest of the neighborhood in a tired slump, leaning against the stroller for most of the way. The sun has come out in full force, but because the weather was cold and dampy this morning, I am dressed in jeans and a fleece hoodie. I am sweating through my shirt and wishing I could knock on someone’s door and lay in their bed. A few times I even rest my head on the stroller bars. I’m sure I looked like I was walking home from the bar. That’s the tragedy of early pregnancy: you don’t look pregnant, you just look like a lazy, drunk weirdo.

We finally arrive home. Home, sweet home! I am ready to crawl into bed but I have to get my own kids down for their naps first. But as soon as we walk through the door I am jolted by the most disgusting, putrid smell ever. I immediately think about the poop situation from this morning.

Turns out India made her first deposit on a plastic chair, and then pushed the chair back under the table, and I didn’t see it when I cleaned earlier. So that got to permeate and cook in the noon-day heat for hours while we were gone. AUGH!!!

I am done. I am so done. The kids are finally down, the house is free of exposed biohazardous materials (I think) and I am finally ready for a nap. What time is my husband getting home???