Even though “Santa? Imagination? Wait how religious are you?“ was such a hit (lol) It’s sad, but it’s true. Especially to stay at home moms like me. I see a heated debate about NFP or Kris Kringle and I’m all in on reading it, but I see a story about a mom who took a walk with three little kids, got lost, couldn’t find a bathroom, somehow got stuck riding a train with these lunatics, one of which crapped his pants while she was holding him…..and I am jumping for joy
“Yes! That’s what I am talking about! My life is full of poop too!”
Yep. That story wasn’t actually true, it was my dream from last night though. The entire dream I was looking at my hand going
“Oh my god. There is diarrhea on my hand. It’s on my hand. How have I come this far in life to have diarrhea on my hand?”
Isn’t it bad enough I have to deal with this crap (pun intended) all day long, do I seriously need to be dreaming about it too? And here’s the truth, and I know every single Mommy out there can raise a hand in solidarity with me when I relate to you my afternoon last week:
Today I wanted to write my blog post. It seems as though fate is against me. After I wasted away most of my morning dressing up the kids and posing them as famous movie scenes (please view Instagram) I decided to feed them lunch. They wanted cereal which was easy for me and I figured I’d soon be on my merry way typing for my blog. But then, Princess knocked over the entire bowl of cereal until there was a lactose river of bliss flowing through every crack and crevice on my kitchen floor, and under the seat cushions that are screwed into our kitchen chairs.
In the time that I decided that I indeed was going to have to mop (sigh) and actually getting the mop, Princess had managed to wet her pants, hide them, and run around my house sans underwear. Once we retrieved the soiled linens, deposited them in the washer, and got the mop upstairs all the kids went down to the basement to play.
Right as I was starting to mop I heard yells and shouts coming from the basement bathroom. The words “lots of water” “poop” “Chubs flushed” rang through our house and I cringed and started my Lamaze exercises. The clocked proved so far that only about 23 minutes had passed since the milk incident. I calmed myself, went down to the netherworld basement bathroom where I smelled strong aromas of a stinkier nature. “It’s poop again” I muttered to myself as I peeked into the bathroom, gagged, then sprinted up the stairs to do some serious self-talk through. “You can do this”.
By some miracle, literally seconds later Camera Guy walked in for lunch, which I offered to him on terms that he would address the poop situation. Kids were still playing in the basement. After Camera Guy left for work again, I called the troops up for naptime and as I was hopeful, blog writing time. As Little Guy began his ascent up the steps I once again smelled poop. And also noticed he had thoughtfully removed his pants, and his diaper. After some more muttering and self-talk “It’s POOP AGAIN” I was absolutely delighted to noticed Little Guy’s white onesie was now brown, his legs were covered, and numerous little nuggets of joy were scattered in a trail from whence he came.
So you see, I really wanted to do some awesome, life changing blogging today and I wanted it to be different from all the other stories I write, but alas, as hard as I may try to avoid it: poop is my lot in this life.
And even as I relate this delectable incident to you, I will have to excuse myself from wrapping this post up because I hear one toddler sifting through my kitchen trashcan and another one screaming “WIPE ME” from the bathroom.