A Two-Bath Morning

Why didn't anyone tell me about days like yesterday? Maybe they did and I just laughed at them and thought it would never happen to me. Yeah, that's probably it.

Yesterday morning Libby got into the fireplace. Some genius thought it would look nice to not have doors in front of our wood-burning fireplace (like anyone's gonna haul wood up 3 flights of stairs, and where are they going to get the wood anyway? And where will they store the wood in their non-balcony apartment?) so it's wide open and just begging for a toddler to come sit in it. So she did. And she came out covered in soot from head to toe. Don't worry, Mom, she was just wearing a diaper, so none of your cute outfits were harmed in the making of this mess. I snatched Libby off the white hearth (another genius idea) and dumped her in the tub. Soot does not wash off easily, I found, so she really got a scrubbing. All clean and sweet smelling once more, she promptly ran into the living room and peed on the carpet. Nice.

A little background for this next story: I bought a lock for our trash can when we moved in because Libby thought that food in the trash can was fair game (why are kids so gross?). John doesn't like the lock, so we reverted to what worked for us in NC, the grocery bag on the door-knob. I didn't think ti was a good idea, especially as Libby emptied a few over the weekend. But John persisted, and I gave in. Now, on to the story:

A few hours go by and my super-cool friend, Erin, called to say they are coming to town next week to visit her in-laws, and can we hang out? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! She is going to introduce us to some member friends of hers a little bit from here who she thinks we would really like. Friends? Bring 'em on! We talked about birthin' babies for a while, and as our conversation was running down, Libby walked up to me and held up her hands, covered in peanut-butter. How did she get into the peanut butter? Wait, that's not...oh no, don't tell me...it can't be...it isn't...oh no, it is...poop. I hung up the phone, snatched Libby, and ran to the bedroom to remove what I thought would be a horrible diaper. I scrubbed her hands and feet with baby wipes (another scrubbing in the tub was in order, but I wanted to get her naked without further disaster), then took off the diaper. No poop. If she's not poopy, then how did she get it on her hands? I ran to the kitchen, and there in the middle of the dining room floor, in all it's glory, was that morning's poopy diaper. Come on! I called John to tell him that his great idea wasn't so great, and how the heck am I supposed to get poop out of the carpet when I a) have no carpet cleaner, only bathroom cleaner (sure to bleach the carpet) and b) I have no scrub brush? He did a Google search and said "one lady used hydrogen peroxide and said it didn't bleach her carpet". OK, great. No, wait, I don't have any of that. All I have is antibacterial dish soap. If it can clean chicken juice, it can clean poop, right? So I squeezed some on a wet rag and went to town on that carpet. Libby, still naked and not yet in the bath, peed on the floor again. Carpet all clean and smelling of citrus, I dumped Libby in the tub for the second time. Knowing I would probably throw my back out trying to scrub her down for the second time in 3 hours, I climbed in with her. Both of us clean and sweet-smelling, we got out of the tub, I gave her her lunch (after a meltdown) and put her to bed.

Then I sat and cried. And wondered, poop used to make me laugh, why am I crying? Am I homesick? No, not so much homesick as just plain lonely. In NC, I know I was kind of a loner, but I did stuff. I saw people. If I sat at home for a few days and got bored, I went and hung out at someone's house. I enjoyed my solitude when we first moved in to our apartment, but it's just not fun anymore. And it is so hard to make friends in the five minutes before RS starts, especially when you spend half of that time trying to figure out how to insert yourself into a group of friends without looking like a total nerd. The women in my ward are very nice, but they don't seem interested in adding to their "group". I sit next to someone new every week, trying to find that one person who just "clicks" with me. I promise I'm trying, Mom, I'm not sitting by myself in the back this time. I'm sticking my neck out, and while I'm not meeting with rejection, I'm not meeting acceptance, either. More like tolerance. Maybe it's because I'm the token fat girl in RS. Maybe it's because I don't have the trendy clothes, or drive a souped-up mini-van. Is RS really like high school in that way?

With us only having one car, I can't go to playgroup, I can't go to the park, I can't go anywhere. I begged a ride to playgroup once, and it was so awkward riding with someone I have never met, trying to have a conversation with someone who I realized after 15 minutes of me talking really didn't want to talk to me, that I don't know if I can do that again.

Bottom line is, I really miss you guys.