You know how washing your car is like a guarantee that it will rain? Well, I am starting to fear that washing my babies is a guarantee that he or she will very soon afterwards be covered in poop.
Yesterday I let Maggie fingerpaint. And turned my back on her. For two minutes. Which, you just can't do with Maggie. Or this happens.
Evidently she's job hunting.
She was already naked because I had been entertaining this fantasy of potty training her. Ha. Hahahaha.
I put her in the kitchen sink and to my surprise, the majority of the blue came off. I took her out and right then, before I could dress her, my mom called. Two more minutes y'all. Two minutes. In comes Maggie, crying POOPOO! POOPOO! Yes. All over her, all over the floor. Back in the sink. By 11am, she had had two baths already.
Ingram has a nasty diaper rash and got bathed in the same sink this morning. Now, unfortunately, this is not an every day occurrence. Sometimes I can't remember the last time the poor baby had a bath (you moms with fewer than three children will probably be aghast at that. The ones with three or more totally get me.) So it is kind of a big deal and, well, meant to last at least a couple of days.
Tonight I came in from the grocery store and passed the baton to Walker who was off to play trivia with some friends. The kids were supposed to be in bed already, but from upstairs I heard gasps and giggles. As I walked up the stairs, the foreboding aroma of baby poop washed over me. And this is what awaited:
Like brother, like sister. You might think I would get used to unmatting poop from hair and disinfecting crib rails. But alas, you would think wrongly.
So Ike, too, got two baths in one day. And that's gotta be a record.