One Time, at the Dream…

Just thought I’d share a little story… a night in the life…

Seems appropriate for our 100th post (WOW).

On this particular evening, Jason is riding his bike home from work.  He often commutes to work via the bike.

Kenton is learning that this will be his chosen sport.  Or golf.  We’re yuppies and not ashamed to admit it.

However, on this night, my Mr is running late.  So, I’m on my own to watch the babe, feed the babe, get dinner started, feed the dogs, etc.  I’m juggling things pretty well ifIdosaysomyself.  Kenton is hanging out with me in the kitchen, in his Bumbo, while I monitor dinner in the oven.  Then, something catches my eye…

Do you see it?

The river of liquid poo about to spill out of the Bumbo and onto my counter?  Yes, I stopped to take a picture.  What?  Don’t judge.

HaHaHa.  Funny baby poop moment – no biggie!

I scoop up the wee one, still in the Bumbo and rush him over to our guest bathroom and into the tub.  He’s laughing.  All is well.

Dun-dun-DUNNNN

I strip off his poo soaked clothing and hold him as he stands (his favorite trick) in the tub.  I turn on the bath faucet to start rinsing him off.  Like a good momma, letting it warm before I position my poo-covered child underneath it.

Up until this moment, I’ve achieved the dream of every mom in this situation.  I am unmarked by poo.  Clean. My work outfit unstained. I am HANDLING this and doing a damn good job.  I am PROUD.

Then, I hear it.

The familiar ch-chisk of the SHOWER kicking on.

Before I can snap out of my narcissistic proudmommakeeponrolling moment, the babe and I are both drenched in ice cold water.

For the first time ever, my child does something I’ve always wanted him to do – he reaches up for me to hold him – with his bottom lip out as far as possible.  Wailing soon follows – from both of us.

I have no choice (obviously) but to scoop up my poo-drenched baby and squeeze him tight.  The shower-shock cute-face combo was just too much.

I am now marked by poo.  Unclean. My work outfit stained. However, I am HANDLING this and doing a damn good job.  I am kinda grossed out.  JUST BEING HONEST.

Well, now the only other option is a full-on bath.  So, upstairs we go – racing by the kitchen, the oven, the dinner in the oven, and the timer getting dangerously close to it’s end time.

Upstairs, this is routine.  Kenton bathes in the same tub each night – there is no shower.  The knob is already turned to exactly the right degree on the hot side. I fill the whale-shaped infant tub and lower my poo-streaked naked baby into the water.  We both breathe a sigh of relief.

DING-DONG

Ding. Dong. DANG. The Mr is home, at the front door without a key.  (Our garage door was broken – long story.)

YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING.

For a moment, I consider leaving him out there while I finish cleaning the kid.  But, that would not earn me any good wife points and, besides, someone needs to get an already burning meal out of the oven.

So, once again, I scoop up the babe.  Race down the stairs. Open the front door. Look to make sure it’s my husband and not one of Scottsdale’s finest (again, JUST BEING HONEST – he was cycling home in the dark) say, “I’m glad you’re not roadkill. Love you. Bad timing, Dinner. Oven. BURNING.”

Then, with my other team member in the picture, my child becomes poop free, dinner is rescued and all is well.  Except my clothes – but that’s okay.  It’s an excuse to go shopping.

Kenton checks out his dad’s wheels.

I know that’s not the worst poop story.  I have an even better one that involves a public place, a public bathroom floor, and the Ergo carrier.  It’s too dirty for public consumption  TOO DIRTY.  Trust me.  No one who reads this blog would ever have another baby if I shared it.  BUT… I want to read your stories!  Anyone got some good baby poop stories to share?