I Quit

I used to think that babies and children that drank cleaning supplies and ate pennies were obviously a little...well...off.

Isn't it basic human instinct not to drink stuff that tastes like poison? Isn't it more difficult than it is worth to try to swallow a metal disc?

Then I had little kid.

With little kid these sort of tasks are not exploration gone wrong by a little adventurer....they are hourly fucking occurrences.

He looks at those safety latches that stop me from getting into my own cabinets every time I try, as a mere suggestion, and not one worth following.

Everything that could possibly be choked on...goes straight in the mouth.

I was up at 7am (yes 7 A.M., as in morning time) with the little punks because Mr. Ashley was up last night puking.

I don't know, I don't want to come right out and say it, but I think he made himself barf to get out of dealing with these kids for one more day.

So I spent a feverish, sweat soaked, sleepless, ice cream free night...I am still EXHAUSTED, unable to eat, light headed, dizzy, queasy and only able to imbibe the smallest, most watered down sips of anything...and I've been up since 7 in the morning, wiping asses, fishing dimes from people's mouths and eyeballing the contents of various cleaning solutions to try to get a good guesstimate on whether or not enough has been ingested to call Poison Control.

It is so, so utterly unfair that I want to scream, but that would only worsen my headache.