I had grand plans for today.
Plans of cleaning in my ironed apron with my new, fresh water pearls.
Chloe, the poor thing, has other plans for me.
They involve getting pooped on and thrown up on (not SPIT UP on, please note).
She's planned several impromptu visits to the bathtub.
She's encouraging me to do the brand spankin new pile of popped stained laundry.
She wants to play with the thermometer and do the "translate that Celsius temp into Fahrenheit and then panic over how the number doesn't seem to want to go down" game. That's a real game in some countries.
She wants me to double check just how well my ear plugs really work.
My poor baby. My poor psyche.
Send help. And chocolate.