Emma has the most beautiful long golden hair. I love, love, love when she is in a hospitable mood and allows me to brush it. I envy her hair, not so much the blond part, but the silky, long part. I have only taken scissors to her hair once and that was to cut a small wisp of hair off when her ear drum burst and caked into it. Otherwise I would never have considered taking scissors to her hair….until Tuesday night, or should I say Wednesday morning.

Emma came in saying she didn’t feel well so I let her crawl into bed with us. Not too long later she stirred and started gagging. I got her out of bed in time and averted that mess. She woke up several more times but they were all false alarms. Then she woke up again and I wasn’t fast enough. Fortunately we had laid a towel under her after the first time and that caught everything, but there was splatter all over Joel’s pillow case, our nice.white.brand new. First night sleeping in them sheets, grr!

During the whole episode quite a bit of “it” got in her hair. Joel carried her in the towel into the bathroom and I began the gross, disgusting, torturous task of cleaning her up. I will admit, as I was trying not to gag, I consider giving Emma her first hair cut. Instead, I went into the bedroom and took a few deep breaths to strengthen my nerves and my stomach and went in to clean her up.

That was by far the grossest thing I have ever done. It was even worse than the time she was around a year old and had thrown up in her sleep and slept in it all night. And since she had eaten carrots the night before I came into her room to a smiling little girl whose head and face were glowing orange. She was sooo happy to see me though!

So, have you ever considered extreme measures when faced with a very gross mess?

Sometimes things don’t go the way we’d like. Potty training is one of them. Emma finally took an interest in using the potty vs. her diaper and has done quite well, though lately she has allowed herself to get distracted and wait too long. What we still have not mastered though is going #2 in the potty. We’ve done it a couple of times but with no consistency. That is not the point of this confession though, merely the premise.

Several weeks ago Emma had once again pooped in her panties. We were in the process of taking her soiled panties off when I realized that I was not going to make it up to the toilet with the contents of the panties without them ending up on the floor. I had to make a quick decision- drop it on the floor or attempt to make it to the potty seat bowl which I could then empty into the toilet. I went with option #2. I didn’t quite make to the bowl however and it ended up on the seat. I was more than a little annoyed.

I started in on cleaning up the potty chair when Emma exclaimed “Mommy, my panties!” I looked up to see what she was talking about and she was pointing to the toilet. I looked in and sure enough, there were her panties floating in the water. No it wasn’t her that put them in there, or even Samantha, no, no it was me, the mommy. In my haste to clean up the mess so Emma could use her potty chair I tossed her panties in the toilet without a second thought.

Can I get away with blaming it on pregnancy brain? I would like to think that on a normal basis, when my body isn’t trying to grow a baby, I would have my wits about me and I would have avoided such a wet mistake.

Did I mention that those panties were soaked, soaked I tell you! I can laugh at it now, but I was quite annoyed with myself that day.

So tell me, Have you had a brainless moment? Surely I’m not the only one!

Every mommy will tell you that there is a point where they have reached their mommy max and need some child free adult time. The other day I realized that I had reached that point. I knew I’d reached my mommy max today when I was working away and think to myself what hubby might think of something, but instead of thinking “Joel will be happy…” I thought to myself “Daddy will be happy…” I wasn’t “done” with my kids by any means, but thinking to yourself in kid speak is a sure indicator (for me at least) that I need lengthy adult conversations that don’t involve kids in order to keep me sane. Call it a pre-emptive strike or preventative medicine if you will. It made me laugh to myself and I went about my work.

So, have you reached your mommy max recently? What is a sign that you need some adult time?