Once upon a time, I took a clean shirt for granted.
No longer is that the case, I can assure you.
After being home with The Other Kid for two weeks, I can honestly say that I don't even bother getting out of my pajamas unless I'm going somewhere really important - and by important I mean the pediatrician's office where you have to look put together or they might call DHHS and report you as unfit.
I also no longer take 60 seconds for granted. In 60 seconds, you can get a lot done. 60 seconds also happens to be just about the length of time between when you put TOK down and when she starts screaming her bloody head off because really, she just wants to be snuggled. These 60 second intervals allow me to brush my teeth, pour myself a cup of coffee and occasionally shove a bite of food in my mouth. Not all at the same time of course.
In two weeks I have learned that, until she stops nursing, I will be covered in spit-up breast milk (no matter how large the bib or burp cloth that is used) and there will always be a hint of yellow, seedy baby shit on my hands (no matter how many times I wash them). My skin will be dry and cracked because I wash my hands 537 times a day and I will consider myself lucky if I get to take a shower before lunch.
The most important lesson in these two weeks? With a newborn in the house (no matter how damn cute and snuggle-able) you can't afford to lose your sense of humor.
