It's been an up-and-down couple of weeks here. My full-time job is rough most days, but I'm looking forward to beginning my Pampered Chef business! Anyway, you're probably wondering about the title, and I'll tell you, Dear Readers....
Last week...softball game. We'd beaten this team pretty handily the first go-round (some gawd-awful score that I don't even remember), so we were feeling good going out there.
End of the first inning - us, 13-0.
End of the second inning - us, 19-0.
Third inning we decided to change it up. Everyone changed positions...I pitched (something I hadn't done in two summers). First at bat - in the park home run. Hellfire and damnation - I had to go and ruin our shutout. They scored some runs. We're up.
We batted around the order and were on the second go. I hit one into left center and I'm headed for first. Two steps away from first, I trip over my own two feet! Fall down...over first...without touching it. I had to scramble back to be safe. Stand up and brush dirt off of me.
Next girl is up...she hits one long left center and I take off for second. For whatever reason, I cut second short and had to reach out with my right foot and tag the base, heading for third. Doing this...
completely throws me off balance. I stumble. I see the ground coming up at me, so I reached out and pushed away from me, putting me in a 'stop-drop-and-roll' move. Yeah, I'm rolling around in the dirt inbetween second and third like a beached whale. Everyone...and I do mean everyone - my team, their team, the crowd, was in hysterics. Third base had the ball. She was laughing so damned hard that she didn't even try to tag me out. I brush more dirt off of myself, waved to everyone. "Just trying to keep the game interesting! I'll be here all night!"
Last night, we played. First go-round with this team, we beat them 25-5, I think. At one point, I got (not had to) slide into home plate and was safe. It was one of those plays that the catcher wasn't sure if she had to tag me or the base, so I made myself as low to the ground as possible.
We were losing 15 to 16, and since we were the home team, we got last at bat. Had two girls on base, and I was up. I hit a wonderful shot deep to left center, making a triple. We won the game 17-16.
Now for the OMG moment. I loves my friend Jen's baby Skylar. She's byooooootiful! I get to hold her whenever I can (right now, it's every Tuesday during out knitting night), and she's just so damn cute! Jen fed her and burped her, and then handed her off to me. She was on her tum in my arms, and it didn't take long for her to crash out. Eventually, my arms got tired, so I moved her from tum to back, my left arm supporting her. She was in and out (mostly out)...and suddenly, there was a ripping-type noise, and my hand...and lap was suddenly warm and wet. She'd pooed right out the leg of her diaper. (Insert either horrified sympathy or maniacal laughter here)
Took a bit to clean up, and my capris are in the wash as I type. Wouldn't have been so bad had it not been directly down between my legs and in the chair. Bowlegged it to the bathroom, stripped my capris off and tried to scrape most of the poo off (breastfed babies have slimy poo, or at least this one did)...no such luck. Mr. Realist, Jessi, Jen, Angela all thought it was hilarious (Jen seemed a bit mortified). No worries, Jen - nothing you could have done to prevent it. No harm. Mr. Realist finally gave me the dress shirt he had on from work (he had an undershirt on, pervs), and put it on over my shirt. Even as a cheerleader, I had skirts longer than this shirt. If anyone drove past and saw my ass, I do apologize! I just couldn't sit in my car in soaking wet pants. Mr. Realist calls me 'Poopsmith' now. It's ok, Skylar, you didn't hurt anything. I still loves you.
Heepwah, and be safe out there.