Disclaimer: I know I said I would not talk about poop as much this year. But... some rules are just meant to be broken. Carter could attest to this.
You know something isn’t right when you wake up with a killer migraine. Is this the universes way of telling me to get a sitter and go drinking for the day? Did I say that out loud? Because, the weird thing is, I’m just not one to get migraines (I can honestly count on one hand how many I have had in my life (and I mean actual migraines...not just really bad hangovers that I tried to pass off as medical conditions)). And since hiding under the covers all day in the fetal position isn’t an option (although I totally did this for an hour while I made Chad wrangle the kids and get them breakfast)...I had to get up.
And it began:
Carter was on a rampage from a renewal of energy after having been sick. He tried to fly (down the stairs on his belly), he tried to “bump the dog” repeatedly (whatever that is), he tried to break anything breakable, throw anything throwable, beat anything not moving (and some things moving...sorry kitty), he smeared his own spit across the window, he screamed (mostly the word “NO” when I tried to bring up any fun activity we could do that didn’t include destruction). He was just... unstoppable.
So you can imagine my excitement when I saw nap time slowly approaching. I know this makes me sound like a monster. But before you judge me...ask yourself this...ok no...just go ahead and judge me. In fact, leave me a nasty comment about how much I suck... it’ll be the cherry on top of this shit-tastic day.
Anywho, halfway through lunch (also known as: the-mommy-refuses-to-make-mac-and-cheese-fight) I start to smell something, and it’s coming from the general direction of Avery’s diaper. This can’t be good. She’s my rose-smelling child.
Upstairs we all go. Avery, cooing happily away (I mean, after that disaster in her diaper...of course she felt better), Carter screaming “no upstairs...I fly down stairs” and me...wishing it were last night again and I were laughing at all of the shoulder-pad abuse by hollywood's female stars at the golden globes.
I’ll skip through all of the gruesome details of the diaper explosion and just say... Avery needed a bath. And heaven forbid Carter play quietly in his bedroom while Avery had a bath....nope...Captain trouble had to be in the bathroom with us...and insisted that he too get a bath.
Now, If you’re wondering how the logistics of two kids in the bath at the same time (but not in the bath tub together) works, it’s like this:
I put Avery in her inflatable ducky tub on the bathroom floor and Carter in the bathtub and pop a squat on the bathroom floor between the two tubs. I’m a magical multi-tasker (seriously, if I can carry a carseat, hold a toddlers hand and hold the spastic dog’s leash into Petco for the spastic dog’s grooming appointment...I can for sure handle a dual bath). Hear that potential future employers? Magical Multi-tasker.
If you think you have the picture pretty well formed in your head...just remember to add the fact that I am smiling more and more as nap time inches closer. I need them to both nap today. I need this. Need it.
And just as the smile reaches it’s point of almost-bliss....I hear farting noises and the following conversation takes place:
Me: Carter, what was that noise?
Carter: I fart
Me: Ok...do you need to sit on the potty?
Carter (after more air bubbles and noises): No, I pooped mommy
Me: YOU WHAT? IN THERE?
Carter (now holding his own feces in his hand): I pooped...see...poopy!
I could go into how I had to now run him to the shower to clean him off, disinfect the bathtub, how he peed down the side of me on the way back from the shower and then also on his blanket ...but I won’t.