I'm about to share with you two unspeakable truths. These are true confessions. They are beyond upsetting. Both of these things happened in a single day, within a single hour. I am sharing this because I don't know how else to cope. Somebody? Anybody? Help a mother out.
The first: we found a mystery poo on my kitchen table…during dinner. The second: the Teeny ate her own poo.
These are actual events, and only our pride was hurt in the making of this real life drama.
It all began on Father's Day... we sat down for a beautiful meal…picture it: Peeps (our special out of town guest), fresh veggies from our own garden, soft jazz playing on iTunes, wine poured, celebratory toast made. And then real life crashes our serene shores, and the whole thing is blown to bits like a sand castle at high tide with a single question.
"ewww, what's that?!?" Tiny asked.
Hubs inspects…it's tiny, it's brown, its on the side of our small round table. "hmmm, I don't know, maybe it's mud?" And then he smells it, and his face gets squishy, he's turning green, and even he can't believe the next words spilling out of his mouth "it's a turd." He's running for the wipes, the jelly bean sized poo hanging on his index finger. I can't speak, I'm mid bite. This can't be happening.
I think its Tiny's laughter or maybe its Peeps that snaps me out of my "this can't be my life" haze. "Where in the h-fire did it come from?" I start checking butts. No, no…butts are clean.
Then it's like the great inquisition…. "Tiny, did you poo? Did you pick that up outside? Is it Teeny's? Did you see her? Was she playing with her diaper? Where in the holy flying f did this poo come from? And how in heaven's name did it end up on our table?"
I'm sweaty (yes, again), and the meal might as well be flushed with this teeny pint-sized turd. There are somethings that you just can't bounce back from and continuing to eat after finding a mystery turd on the table is at the top of that list. And, here's the really unspeakable part….I still don't know where it came from. Is Tiny a master of deceit? Does she know? Is there a turd burglar on the loose? So many questions, so few answers. One teeny, tiny unsolved mystery.
I want to don a hazmat soon and go all Dexter after a murder on this place. But just as I'm about to reach for the bleach…the crazy train rolls on.
Teeny has decided to pile it on. (Pun intended)
You know those diapers where you expect one thing, and then you pull those little velcro tabs and you realize…oh shit….I mean, "OOOOhhh Shit!!" Well, it was one of those moments. Still reeling from the shock of just moments ago, I was unprepared. The wipes container only had a few wipes left and I needed more. I'm shouting, "bring me a garbage bag! i need more wipes! oh no! oh god! teeny don't touch that! stop squirming!"
Teeny doesn't listen. She grabs the diaper. I don't realize it, but she's grabbed poo too. I'm waiting on the wipes, and she's squirming and then inexplicably screaming. And then I see it….the poo on her fingers, and a brown streak on her lips, her teeth. I want to die. This can't be happening. The wipes have arrived. I'm using them on her butt and her mouth simultaneously. "I need water!" "I need a toothbrush!" ….."I need a shower!"
And, that's it. The tipping point. I'm hysterical. I'm crying and laughing because there is nothing left to do. I'm a mess of tears, and snot and yes, more poo.
This is me. This is us. Our poo truths…and the lie? Well, the lie is that serene setting of jazz and wine and tranquility. This is who we really are, the struggle is real. Somedays are amazing and some days, well, some days are just shitty. The key is to find the funny and wildly and boldly embrace the whole truth….and buy clorox wipes in bulk.