Painting with Toes

I've always been in awe of people who, after an accident or for whatever reason, lose the use of a limb or two and learn to make use of other limbs in amazing ways. You know, people who learn to eat with their feet and paint with their toes. How do they do that? They just do. Because they have to.

Likewise, I just do, because I have to. I am amazing even myself with what I'm able to do with one hand because I'm holding a baby with the other. Cook dinner. Clean the kitchen. Make a bed. Wipe a bottom (won't say whose to protect their privacy....just trust me on this one). So now I get it. You do what you have to do when you have to do it. Even if it means painting with your toes.

I have a confession to make though before I sign off to go finally take a shower. I locked myself in the bathroom today with the baby in order to escape Sybil, I mean Catherine. She is SUCH the drama queen these days and incredibly demanding. And she was demanding a piece of me that I just didn't have to give away.

I was trying to rock the baby during the witching hour and she was climbing up my legs and barreling on top of the baby to hang on me. Before I knew what I was doing, I gently pushed her off of me as she collapsed into an uncontrollable fit on the floor, and I ran off with the baby to the nearest sanctuary I could find - the hall bathroom. I locked the door and put the lid down so I'd have a place to perch and I just rocked the baby back and forth as Sybil banged on the door. Humming my favorite disco lullaby....I will survive....I will survive.

I will, won't I?