Lest you think all is sunshine and baby rainbows up in here, let me put your mind at ease. Let’s talk about a little event that recently happened in our house that I like to call “Turdageddon”. Well, I don’t really like to call it that; in fact, I didn’t really like any of it, but it happened, and it was bad enough to have a name like “Turdageddon”, because epically bad events need epic names.
It’s day two of my awesome baby morphing into needs-to-nurse-constantly-and-not-nap-more-than-twenty-minutes baby. Phaedra just finished throwing a tantrum because I won’t let her ride her bike (which she doesn’t ride for more than ten feet before losing interest, anyways) in the street outside our house like the neighbor girl can. She informed me she wasn’t going to speak to me ever again, and that she was going to her room and never coming down. I was left with Bella, who was naked because of our continuing tentative efforts at potty training, and Surrey, who was just getting ready to nod off (thank God). After being relatively sure that this nap was for reals, I took her upstairs and put her in her bed. Unfortunately, Phaedra has reinterpreted “angry exile in bedroom” to mean “impromptu late-night nap that will allow me to party until 2:00 a.m.” Oh well. Still, on the whole, looking good. Time to relax.
Not so. Twenty minutes later, Nighttime Bella Voice emerges. Nighttime Bella Voice is when Bella decides to randomly yell words or noises at the top of her goddamn voice in the evening. It’s only in the evening when this happens, which is super awesome. Usually, though, it’s not until later in the evening, like 10:00 p.m. or so. Not 8:20 p.m. when the baby is trying to sleep upstairs. After the third belting of “DINOSAUR TRAIN!”, Surrey is up and awake. Perhaps my stomping and loud complaining as I walked up the stairs also contributed to her more awake status, but who’s to say?
After intense negotiations, Surrey decides that she’ll go back to sleep, but only for now, and not for long. I accept her conditions, and start to go back downstairs. However, as I start my descent, the distinct smell of poop starts to hit me, and gets worse with every step. Not good.
I think, “OK, she definitely shit on the floor. Not the worst thing in the world, and definitely not the first time she’s done it. I need to locate the poop and get it off the floor ASAP, before she steps–“
Oh God. This is bad. So, SO bad.
She indeed shit on the floor. Well, rather, on the ONE area rug on the entire downstairs floor. And she not only stepped in it, ooooooh no, she one-upped me. She stepped in it, rubbed it on her body, and took a little Mystery Trip around the vicinity of the TV room and adjacent living room, leaving me to step in random poop landmines as I crossed the room to…
…do what? Pick her up? Hell no. Wipe her down? No way. We’re waaaaay beyond the realm of baby wipes at this point. Our only two choices are the hose (and, I’m not kidding at all, I’ve literally hosed this kid down before like an elephant at the zoo), and the bathtub. Since it’s nearly dark outside, and getting chilly, I opt for the humane choice and go for the bathtub. I gingerly walk her across the TV room and up the stairs, while I lecture her on why doo-doo goes in the potty, how it’s ucky, how she can’t ever, ever, EVER play with doo-doo, etc. etc. while she lectures me on DINOSAUR TRAIN! DINOSAUR TRAIN! GONNA RIIIIIIIIIDE, DINOSAUR TRAIN!
When I see your face, Mr. Conductor, I think of booboo.
“…but not as much as you, you see…”