I meant to get this up last night. I meant, I meant, I meant.... those words are starting to sound too familiar.
However, I wasn't mentally prepared to write about my day last night. It was still too fresh. I needed time to compose myself.
You see, it has been almost a year to the day that I experienced poop spread so willy-nilly around the house. In fact, on Wednesday I was checking back to the post I wrote last year on that day and it was all about Emily pooping in her underwear, refusing to go on the toilet or potty, blah, blah, blah. If you've been reading my blog for a while, you'll remember all too well.
Yesterday morning was like most mornings. I was having breakfast. Hope, all done hers, stripped out of her jammies and diaper and was marching around naked while I finished. The thought crossed my mind that I should put something on her bum. If air hits that child's nether regions, it's like Manneken Pis is on travelling exhibition. But, I didn't. I sat there drinking my cappucino, reading the paper and ignoring the little world around me.
And then I smelled something.
I found Hope in the kitchen. There were poop tracks on her legs. Poop tracks. A sure sign that there is poop somewhere on the floor. I found the poop - I'd seen worse - cleaned it up, took her upstairs and cleaned her up. I went downstairs to clean the poop off the living room floor rug. Anyone know how to get poop residue off of a rug fringe short of cutting the fringe off? She's got aim, that one.
Hope was still playing upstairs and then she started to cry. I told her that she was fine. (You can just award me that Mother-of-the-Year award right now, thanks.) She stopped crying. A few minutes later I went upstairs. I saw why she'd been crying. Now there was poop all over the upstairs carpet, all over her legs, feet and hands. A poopy handprint was firmly place on the bars of the gate where she been hanging on, crying, asking me to come and clean the damn poop off of her. Did I feel bad? Yeah, but karma got me with the shear amount of poop and the breadth of its reach.
It was, in a word, icky. Really, really icky.
Hope laughed. She thought it was really funny. In fact, it took her a while to stop laughing as I cleaned every inch of her body and then put her in the bath tub for 20 minutes while I scrubbed each and every inch of the carpet that had anything remotely poop-looking on it.
After that I was in a bad mood. It was 7:00 am and I was cleaning shit off of most surfaces of my child and my house. Things didn't really improve until about 3:00 when John walked in, the girls started listening better, I relaxed.
The evening got better and better as the girls got into their typical routine of dancing, playing, fooling around while John and I watched, read to them, played restaurant, etc. Emily was naked as usual. Hope, not surprisingly, had a diaper on. I thought the small moment below was the best way to sum up yesterday. If only I'd thought to do that around 7:15 am.
Today was much better. John played hooky. I enjoyed almost every moment of my day including that hour or so when I got to go out on my own. Lovely.
And today is only Friday! Which means two more days of John at home. I love the weekends.
You'll have to wait for tomorrow for today's small moment. All that poop talk wore me out. It seems that I'm out of practice.