Sunday Mass with a newly potty trained child was like going to Mass with an mildly intelligent monkey. I love my girls, really I do. I don't know why I keep comparing them to monkeys... I will get back to you on that.
I spent 1/2 the Mass in the bathroom stall with her, and the other half holding the nearly 40 pounder in the cry room since I did not want to reward her for telling me she had to go when she very clearly did not- and the cry room is the reward of all rewards.
I have honestly never left Mass genuinely wanting a stiff drink until today. The 3 plus sides were as follows:
a) it was MASS
b) I had actually already prepared our after-Mass brunch the day before so there was no worrying about what on earth I was going to fill my famished belly with and those of my loved ones, and
c) I really liked my outfit- vain and self-centered (maybe that's why I stink at dealing well with frustrating situations like today's, let's hope God was able to do something good with me just being there.)
There is no way I would have gotten through it had my valiant knight of a husband not come to my aid in the morning hours to let me sleep (after staying up too late finishing season 2 of the best show ever also self centered, but at least he was in it with me). Enough, I am done.
Again, happy Sunday!