When Channeling My Zombie is the Only Option

I really like being connected to God.

It’s hard right now, though, today it is hard. This weekend, it was hard. Aside from the boomerang head cold that’s decided I’m the coolest person in the world, I have this one little toddler who manages to drain and sap the head cold’s leftovers.
After that? All that’s left is Zombie. I sit in front of the television and ask for someone to bring me food.

I took a bath with the baby a few days ago. Purposefully? No. She heard my bath water running, and like a moth to a flame… Within SECONDS, she had nakified herself and was stepping nimbly over the tub edge.
“A splash splash, Mama?”

A splash splash must also be a pop pop if you have Alice with you, so I added some shampoo to the running bath water.
“A POP POP, Mama!”

After she was washed, I plopped her out, wrapped her in a towel and finished my bath. When I walked out into the living room, I found marker. everywhere. On the bathroom door, on the wall, on the front door, and ALL OVER HER OWN LITTLE BODY: head to toe.  Even her tongue was covered in royal blue.

I don’t even have pictures because I’m so tired. She doesn’t sleep, she doesn’t stop, and I’m trying to pray to God to connect and see what He’d have for me to do, but all I can really do is muster is another episode of “Death Comes to Pemberley” and a fat plate of nachos with a side of lotion-infused tissues.
(“Death Comes to Pemberley” just came on Netflix. It’s the best thing that’s happened all week!)

The past few days, the weather has been so beautiful. I keep thinking, “I SHOULD be doing yard work. I SHOULD be outside.”
I ask the kids if they want to go outside, hoping their presence will motivate me.
“No, Mom…” They’re feeling it too.
We are beaten. We are bloodied.

Death by Toddler.

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