We went to Ikea last weekend for our bi-annual shopping spree. I always forget how hot it gets there. Or maybe I just shop so hard that I work up a sweat. Either way, the bathrooms were particularly stinky there that day and I was hot and had been shopping for hours (while carrying a 14 pound baby) when Poppy declared that she had to go poop. So I pass Sam off to Marc and Poppy and I head to the stinky bathroom. As soon as I got her fanny on the toilet, I told her to try to hurry it up. She said she needed me to sing her a song. I sang I've Been Working on the Railroad (while covering my nose with my turtle neck). As I finish up the song, I notice that she is not hurrying, she is just looking around, taking in her surroundings. I plead with her and tell her that she
really needs to hurry up and poop. Her response was, "Mom, I need to tell you something. Sometimes pooping takes patience. This poop isn't coming out because you are not being patient! That is why I can't hurry up, we all need patience." So I patiently waited, and she patiently finished her business and then we got the heck out of that stinky bathroom. She's such a wise old soul.
Last week, both of my children suddenly forgot how to sleep through the night. Two nights in a row, both of them were up about three times a night (which equals no sleep for either me or Marc). The next morning, we were out of coffee. I was miserably tired. Marc left to drop Poppy off at school and pick me up a much-needed coffee from Timmy Ho's. The following 15 minutes were quite possibly the most trying of my life. I went to get Sam up from his morning nap and could tell he had a stinky diaper. I go to change him in his room and realize that it is the worst smelling and messiest poopy diaper he has ever had (thanks to the introduction of solid food). I immediately take the diaper to the bathroom to rinse it into the toilet (it's moments like this that I
love using cloth diapers). The doorbell rings and catches me off-guard so I jerk my hand and end up spraying poopy toilet water on my foot and pajamas. I wonder who in the world would be at my door at 9am and realize it's the chicken delivery man. And we are having friends over for dinner this weekend, and I need chicken. Without thinking (because who can think before you've had your morning cup of coffee?!) I leave a naked Sam on his changing table. I run down the stairs, crack open the door and tell the delivery man that we need chicken and eggs and that I'll have to pay him next week because I have a child that is about to fall off the changing table upstairs. I run back upstairs, pass the bathroom and ignore the poopy diaper that is stinking up the entire second floor of our house, and go to check on Sam who luckily did not fall off the changing table. I then notice that Sam did manage to pee all over the changing table, the wall and the outfit I just finished changing him into. I pick him up and lay him on the floor so that I can change the pad on the changing table. He then tilts his head to the side and spits up the entire contents of his previous feeding onto the rug. Awesome. I can feel my chin start to quiver as I am on the verge of tears. Lola walks in, on the trail of some fresh spit-up. That dog can clean a rug better than any fancy vacuum or steam cleaner! And after cleaning the rug for me, she even entertained Sam while I finished cleaning the changing table, the poopy diaper and myself. The moral of the story is: don't ever run out of coffee, which would leave you unprepared for situations like these.
