Seriously, enough with the crap.
I pretty much lost it today.
Twice.
You see, my life revolves around poop. From the second I wake up in the morning, open the twins’ bedroom door and am nearly knocked unconscious by a mushroom cloud of stank, to the final nasty diaper of the day.
All day.
Every day.
Double diaper duty.
Sure, I love my babies. I do not, however, feel any fondness to their feces.
This morning, I left the babies in their cribs a little longer than normal. The usual eau du poopoo didn’t waft from the room when I opened the door, so I figured they could sit in some pee for a while and have their morning bottles while I cleaned the kitchen up a bit. (And popped on to Facebook and Twitter, of course. You know, the morning essentials.)
It wasn’t that long, and they were happily playing, so I let them be. I walked down the hallway to get them, and I began to smell… it. The it to end all its. It seemed worse than normal, but I didn’t think much of it. That is, until I saw him.
Wyatt. Covered. In. Poop.
Head to toe and on his hands that were, of course, in his mouth. Crap was flung or rolled all over the crib, the bedding, the stuffed Mickey Mouse doll, blanket, Cabbage Patch Kid (Lily was apparently sharing her toys).
I held him at arms length and rushed him to the tub. It took all of my motherly instincts not to drop him when he took his turdy hand and happily slapped it against my forearm.
I began whimpering. Normally, I can suck it up, but this wasn’t the first time this had happened with Wyatt this week. Sunday, the kid blew out his diaper so bad, it coated his legs, back, and everything. It was another tub-er (tub-er: when a diaper is so horrendous, it must be changed in the tub). The best part of that story, is that I didn’t realize I had crap streaked on my ankle until several hours afterward.
So, I was whimpering, washing him off, sticking my bare hand in places that it ought not be stuck, watching digested peas, orange bits, and corn float in the tub water because our drain is horrible, and willing myself not to vomit. Wyatt thought this was the most hilarious thing ever and was squealing, splashing around, having a grand ol’ time.
Finally, he was clean and thoroughly sanitized. I set to work on the bedding and poor Mickey and Cabbage Patch, when I realized we were out of laundry detergent.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled to no one in particular.
The entire time this was going on, I was wavering between “I am going insane” and “This is going to make a great blog” with a dash of “Thank God I’m getting away next week.”
Crisis averted, I traded my neighbor some laundry detergent for some coffee creamer (they were out of an essential item too).
Not two hours later, I had sent Lily to time out for whining. This girl… uuuuggggghhhhhh, this girl… She has been the whiniest, most, uuugh! I can’t even talk about it, it annoys me too much.
So, while she was in time out, I was folding laundry. Suddenly, she became far too quiet and un-whiney. I walk over, she says, “Mommy, I poop!” and holds up her hand.
Poop.
On her fingers.
All over her fingers.
Bulging from her underwear.
I lost it.
I picked her up, grumbling about not telling me she had to go potty, put her in the bathtub that I had already completely washed down after Wyatt’s poop fiasco. I removed the underwear, put them in a plastic bag, and threw them away. I simply wasn’t going to deal with laundering more feces today. I refused.
On the way to the garbage can, I said (far too loudly), “I am so sick of shit!”
For the second time today, my bare hands scrubbed poop off of my child’s body, and in between cracks and crevices. I wasn’t at all nice to her about it. I have been incredibly patient with her the whole time she’s been potty training, vowing to not go off on her about not going in the potty when she has accidents, and here I was, doing the exact thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do.
I did calm down, of course, and tried to right my wrong, but what’s done is done. Next time, I’ll do better.
After Lily and the bathtub were cleaned and sanitized, I did what any good stay at home mom would do.
I called Clint at work and vented to him.
He was good, too. He listened. He didn’t laugh. He sympathized.
I can’t say that I wouldn’t be busting up laughing if the roles had been reversed.
To make this all even more annoying, I have had this random issue with my eyelid and it’s bothering me and making me a little more irritable than usual. I have no idea what happened, but I seriously look like someone clocked me in the eyeball.
See?
What the heck?!
So, it’s now 2:05pm and most of the kids are down for naps. Before lunch, I made a run to Starbucks to treat myself for having to deal with so much nastiness today. Seemed like a fair reimbursement.
Cross your fingers that the rest of my day is feces-free, will ya?
