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Pooped

27 Oct

Whine: Brother Bear is downright surly this morning. So hungry he can’t sleep and so sleepy he can’t eat. A real ray of sunshine.

Cheese: The only cheese I have today is the Kraft single he just threw on the floor.

Brother Bear woke up an hour and a half early from his two hour nap this morning. I left him in his bed, hollering “MAMA!” like Will Ferrell asking for meatloaf* for a while, then gave up all hope of any respite and retrieved him. His crocodile tears dried instantaneously, he pointed to his fluffy backside with a smile and said “Poop.”

I remember when I was pregnant with Big Sis and the nausea of changing my niece’s poopy diaper almost pushed me over the edge. I couldn’t even do it and had to beg my sister for mercy.

Pre-kids me was such a wimp.

I have officially changed so many poopy diapers that the act leaves me completely unfazed, regardless of severity. Yet poop remains my single greatest enemy. Yes, poop.

Poop has derailed many a naptime, taking what was once my only breather for the day (and by breather I mean alone-time with my piles of laundry) and turned it into a moment-by-moment battle against EHS (Exploding Head Syndrome). Because the baby who pooped himself awake after only 30 minutes is just a wee bit touchy.

Poop has ended playdates and caused more than one premature and hasty exit from a swimming party.

Poop (or the lack thereof) has hijacked family vacations– from splashing in the lake to sitting around the potty and waiting for the blessed event. Waiting. Crying. Begging. Pleading.

Poop, when discovered in the planter box by our front door (which apparently makes a great litter box for cats on the go), can maybe, possibly push one mama over the edge.

I’m just gonna say it: Today has been a particularly poopy day. Literally.

And I am not myopic enough to think that my life is the hardest. Shoot, my life doesn’t even begin to qualify as hard. I know that. But there are just days when living in the moment. . . well, it stinks. And even as I put my feet up and soak in my self-pity (for lack of Calgon), I know that another moment will come along soon and I’ll be smiling and laughing and hoping my kids never change a bit. But not this moment.

In fact, if a yellow school bus showed up and I could send them off for the day (or two. . . or three), I probably would. And I would hope they have lots of hand sanitizer there.

UPDATE: Mr. Dad just went to change another stinky diaper (#3 for today) and found not one, but two pennies in there.  Sigh

*I would post the clip from Wedding Crashers because it sounds just like my son, but it has some non-family-friendly language in it, so feel free to find the clip yourself if you are so inclined.

**In the time it took me to write the last two paragraphs, Brother Bear found a glass jar to shatter on the kitchen floor. Which I left sitting there while I strapped the kids in the car and headed to pick up Big Sis from school.

***This post is dedicated to all the mothers out there who aren’t sure if they can make it ’til bedtime (which is at, like 5:45, right??). I’m not sure either, but we’re in this together. For a much more encouraging take on all this, read THIS.

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