The baby, who still sleeps in a crib in our room, was very proud of herself as she opened our bedroom door and walked down the hall to her sisters’ room. I looked in the room and found her lying on the floor in a diaper, her pajamas discarded on the floor.

I half-heartedly scolded her about being naked and planned to do something about it after I finished whatever important task I had at hand. When I went back to the girls’ room, I found the baby, still naked except for diaper lying in the bottom bunk between two sisters. She pretended to sleep but was playfully wiggling. I picked her up and took her to get some clothes. It was almost time to take my husband to work.

The baby had awakened one of her sisters–the light sleeper who sorely needs her sleep–and she joined us while I dressed the baby. My daughter was chattering about gymnastics people or ballet people, or support group people–I wasn’t paying attention–when the baby threw up the milk she’d had an hour earlier. She got it all over her sweater and my sweater sleeve and jeans.

I screamed, interrupting my older girl’s stream of words. She commented on how my scream had interrupted what she was saying. . .I interrupted her again to get me a towel or something. She found one in the room, and I desperately tried to wipe up the sickness, especially off my newly washed jeans(!)

The baby was alarmed at the vomit on my sweater sleeve. I was trying to get downstairs to make my husband’s lunch, but that was not to be. He suggested he take the car and I stay home and nurse the baby to health.

Oh joy.

I put fresh clothes on both of us and took her downstairs for water and what not. My daughter gave the baby some gatorade, because she ‘couldn’t find the water.’ What?

We’ve been battling digestive upset for a while now, but the baby won’t eat pure BRAT diet food. I decided to make malt o meal and put applesauce in hers. I was sitting her in her high chair when she protested that she had a stinky diaper.

I took her to change her, and her diaper was full. I wiped her, changed her, and she started pooping on the floor. I was shocked and horrified, and feebly called for help. “I need cloth diapers. . . the baby pooped on the floor! Does anybody know where there are any more real diapers?”

Meanwhile, the children argued at the kitchen table about video games.

I was livid. I cleaned up the mess, reconstructed the baby, and screeched the rest of the house to a stop. I instructed individual children to get the items I needed.

I got a bowl (like a bed pan) for the baby. I held her, played with her, fed her, gave her water, and let her play for the rest of the day. She never needed the bowl.

By the time I took my daughter to gymnastics, the baby was a little sleepy from her nap, but she revived with water and attention. By bedtime, she was smiling and laughing–a very different person from the scowling child I’d seen a few hours earlier.

I am holding my breath about tomorrow.