I just have to say right off the bat that I am not at the laughing stage of this. Not yet. I may be tomorrow. When I told the story tonight at my supposed-to-be-a-bible-study-but-really-more-of-a-chatfest I almost smiled.
But not quite. I am not quite there.
Here's what happened.
This morning. 9am. I am in bed, still half asleep, half reading my bible and asking God to send his Holy Spirit to please help me to be less mean today than I felt like being yesterday. Walker is with the kids, letting me have this time. He is home because, due to Eduard -
AND REALLY, YOU DON'T WANT TO GET ME STARTED ON HOW I FEEL ABOUT ALL THE HYPE SURROUNDING A WIMPY TROPICAL STORM AND HOW THE MEDIA WANTS ANOTHER KATRINA SO STINKIN BAD THAT THEY ARE GOING TO ACT LIKE EVERY DUMB RAINCLOUD IS A CAT 60 HURRICANE UNTIL THEY GET ONE -
- Walker thought he was going to stay home today, but by 9am when it was barely sprinkling he decided he could brave the seven minute commute to work and therefore, came in to get me up.
So, he comes in, turns on the hot water for his shower, lathers up his face with shaving cream while I do the brush teeth, put on deodorant, meet the day routine I do each and every morning. Then I walked out into the breakfast room.
Now, you would think that, after several years as a multipara, I would be used to the barrage that greets me every morning. But I am not. I don't think I ever shall be. The Proverbs 32 woman doesn't really want to be spoken to first thing in the am. She likes to gradually begin her day, preferably with no conversation until she has had a strong cup of coffee.
Slow waker, meet four preschoolers.
Aye yi yi. They so don't fulfill my needs in this area.
As soon as I walk in the breakfast room, I am met with the normal barrage of MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY'S UP! HI MOMMY! I LOVE YOU MOMMY! CAN WE HAVE CANDY FOR STAYING IN BED? DADDY DIDN'T FEED US BRESTFAST! I'M HUNGRY MOMMY! CAN I HAVE A VITAMIN MOMMY? DADDY GAVE ME BANANAS! SHEPPY HIT ME MOMMY! SHE HIT ME FIRST MOMMY! WHERE ARE WE GOING TODAY MOMMY?
And, just like every morning, I look at them, shiver, press my hands to my eyes, mumble "hi, hi, love you, I dunno, give me a minute, hi" and grope towards the coffee pot.
Only this morning was a little different because the amongst the barrage I heard, I WENT POOPOO IN THE POTTY MOMMY! COME LOOK!
Now, Eva Rose is still new enough at this that it still deserves a declaration, a viewing, a hug, some praise, and a piece of candy. And truly, considering the long hard road we traveled to get here, she may still be earning a piece of candy in high school.
So, I delay the coffee pot quest briefly to attend to the poop-praising quest.
And I saw that there was something amiss. For there was indeed poop, in the potty.
And, on the potty seat.
And, on the floor -?
My eyes followed the trail...straight to the crawling baby who gazed up at me so lovingly....with a mouth full of poop.
His sister's poop.
That he had reached into the toilet to retrieve.
IN MY BABY'S MOUTH. And DRIPPING DOWN HIS CHIN.
I screamed. Loudly. He screamed. Loudly. I grabbed him and - my arms outstretched - ran him back to the bathroom where my husband is trying to shave.
"TAKE HIM! TAKE HIM! HE ATE SISSY'S POOP! IT'S NOT FUNNY! HELP ME!"
He gave me that, I'm covered in shaving cream trying to shave here, what do you want me to do? look.
"THIS IS A CRISIS!!!" I shout and order him into the shower with our son, who is still screaming. Poor Ike, I poured a cup of water in his mouth, he sputtered, screamed, I poured another. And another. I am sure he thought he was the victim of what Congress has deemed not to be torture. But, what else was I supposed to do? How else does one remove poop from a one year old's mouth??
Walker, face of shaving cream, got in the shower with him, and washed him off as well as he could.
Meanwhile I ran from the bathroom and, of course, immediately googled 'MY BABY ATE POOP' and instead of sordid tales of e-coli, I found it to be a fairly common and typically harmless occurrence. (Seriously, how did people mother before google?)
I breathe. And begin to clean poop from toilet, floor, and wall. And field questions and demands from the others. And throw up just a little bit.
Oh, and did I mention Maggie was screaming bloody murder from her crib this whole time? Maggie was screaming bloody murder from her crib this whole time.
I retrieve Maggie, gave her some breakfast. Walker brought in a clean-as-could-get Ike, who was exhausted enough now to be put down for a nap.
And finally, finally, I got my cup of coffee.