Wednesday morning sucked royally. When things suck royally, I find the only solution is to find the comedy in it all.
Having a special needs critter like Kohl adds a lot of additional duties to our morning and evening routines like getting his bevy of medicines ready and packing all of the supplies for his gastric tube feedings which is how Kohl eats.
At night, we hook him up to a feeding pump that delivers the majority of his calories via slow drip as seen here:
This usually works out great as long as we don’t screw it up. On Tuesday night, I screwed it up.
There is a plastic clamp that prevents the tube from leaking when not in use as seen here:
Forgetting to unclamp that pesky little piece results in disaster. There is usually an alarm that goes off when this happens but since someone was clearly trying to mess with us (I’m looking at you, Allison), the pump did not go off.
Here is a timeline of Wednesday morning’s events:
5:03 am – Mom wakes up Dad to inform him that the plastic clamp on Kohl’s feeding pump was left clamped resulting in Kohl’s entire feed going all over his bed instead of inside Kohl’s stomach
5:07 am – Mom and Dad feel terrible that their negligence has resulted in Kohl sleeping in a puddle of his own formula. In their pre-dawn haze, they conclude that he is fast asleep right now and 20 more minutes of sleeping in a Pediasure pool will do him no harm.
5:47 am – Dad wakes up sleeping beauty and bathes him. While de-robing Kohl, Dad notes that not only is there formula all over his bed, Kohl has also chosen to shit all over the place as well. Touché, Kohl, touché
6:03 am – Bath commences and Dad scrubs off all the dried up formula caked on his skin as well as some poop residue
6:18 am – Mom gets Kohl dressed as Dad proceeds to strip the bed and clean the mattress.
6:32 am – Amelia wakes up, grinning from ear-to-ear, oblivious to the tomfoolery that has taken place
6:45 am – Kohl misses the bus because his parents are dip shits
6:55 am – as Dad attacks the mattress with some Resolve and a rag, Kohl’s bed frame comes crashing down.
6:57 am – Dad throws the rag into the air while muttering “fuck my life.” He proceeds to calm down and find the humor in all this, while also noting the symbolism of a thrown rag in the air being akin to throwing in the towel
This is but a snapshot into how mornings sometimes go at Chateau du Chrestman.
Sometimes, you just gotta say fuck it.
