the real after

Very long ago, I did a before and after post of the interior of our house. Little did I know at the time that the "after" was really the "before". "Before what," you ask?

Before The Baby Invasion.

Our living room - the very before.



Our living room - the old after.


Our living room - this morning.

The foyer/hall/dining area/whatever it's supposed to be - the very before.

Same area, different angle - the old after.

Same area - this morning.

Our kitchen - the very before.

Our kitchen - the old after.

Our kitchen - this morning. (Look, I've been so patient the computer is still in one piece. Aren't you so proud?)

And I know the purpose of the basement is for dressing change, but still. EVERY area in our house has thrown up baby stuff. And when you add a whole big helping of medical junk, it's everywhere.

The basement - nice, new, pristine.

The basement this morning - set up and ready to go for Jonah's dressing change.

Please don't mistake this for complaining. I LOVE having Jonah (and all of his tons and tons of crap) around the house. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

But sometimes... sometimes when I'm dodging puke puddles, trying not to step on the poopy diaper I've just thrown on the floor, kicking the cat out of my path, tripping over the bouncy seat, maneuvering around the high chair, yelling at the dog to get off Jonah's blanket or to stay away from Jonah's toys or to shut his face, kicking all Jonah's laundry to the laundry closet because I have no hands to pick it up, all the while saying a few choice cuss words praying for the sick...

Sometimes I just want to snap my fingers and have it all put away. I'd love to hear somebody say something to me like, "a place for everything and everything in its place." Because although I'd want to smack them a little bit for being so daggone hoity toity, it would mean that everything actually did have an appropriate place... that the fault would be mine that I had neglected to put it all away.

Unlike the reality which is - this kid's stuff is everywhere, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out where to put it or how to organize it to where my house doesn't look like it's vomited baby.

So there it is, folks. Puke-stained and all. Our house. Our mess. Our glorious chaos.

And I wouldn't have it any other way...

... except for maybe a few cute storage trunks from Target and some extra shelving, and some extra cabinets in the kitchen, and an actual dining room...

I'm just sayin'.

(Let me apologize for the jumbled upedness of this post and let me also say that Blogger needs to work these spacing bugs out. Because although I'm trying to have patience with my computer, Blogger's need to jumble up all my paragraphs into one, long, hard-to-read monstrosity also makes me want to drop it off the deck. Give a girl a break already. Is a little paragraph breakage too much to ask???)