There's poop everywhere!
I'm the type of mother who rarely gets a break. In fact, I equate going to work a vacation, which is weird because I work with teens and adults....who act like children. Anyway...
Wednesday morning started off just like any other. I woke up, checked my email, the weather, my sad and lonely bank account, then set off to take a shower. I should probably mention that I got maybe 3 hours of sleep since Bryson had been up coughing all night despite me slathering him in Vix and blasting the humidifier all through the night. Regardless, I did my typical routine of applying make up, pressing my work clothes, packing my lunch, and drinking a pot of coffee. When it came time to get Bryson ready, he was feverish. Still hacking up a lung without any sign of phlegm. I was set on going to work and leaving him to fend for himself at school. However, I decided to ask him what he wanted to do.
Me: You want to stay home with Momma or go to school?
Bryson: I want to nap.
Me: So you want to stay home?
Bryson: Momma, I said I want to nap with you!
So that was that. I texted my supervisor and called the daycare to let them know we (Momma Bear and Baby Bear) were staying home. Here I thought we would get to sleep in, snuggle the rest of the morning, eat pancakes... nerp.
About 30 minutes into me returning to bed, Bryson turns to me in shock and asks "MOMMA, where. Is. My. Firetruck!" I sigh... It's in your room... His cute, tired countenance turns into one of shock and horror. "MOMMA! GO GET ITTTTTTTT!" I jump out of bed, run to his room to retrieve his prized possession, and hop into bed only to find him climbing out of it because he's ready to get up.
Okay. That wasn't too bad. Then he complained he was too hot. So I took off his pajamas. Then he complained he was too cold. So I put on his pajamas. Then he complained his legs were too hot. So I removed his pajama pants. Then he exclaimed he had to poop. We have been successfully potty trained for almost a month now. Peeing in the potty and staying dry...we're pretty much expert level on thanks to stickers and cool big boy underwear sent to us from family in Ohio. Pooping; however, no....not so much. We sat on the potty for maybe 5 seconds and he sighed "Momma, I think I'm done." We head downstairs to watch some monster trucks on Youtube via our Apple TV and I notice he's standing, but sort of doing the twerk. You know when you stand, but stick your butt out and bounce it? Yes. That. He's doing that move and I notice a rather foul fragrance coming from his general direction.
Me: "Baby, did you poop?"
Bryson: "NO! You stink!"
Me: Are you sure??
Bryson: No Momma Quiiiiiiittttt. (Then, he runs away from me)
I catch him. Check the pants...Poop all in his underwear and half up his back. Not hard, not liquid, but the really wet, soft, mooshy kind of poop that spreads like melted sticky peanut butter everywhere. I clean him up. Sit him on the potty. He tries for a second. Quits out of exhaustion from pushing. We put the pants back on...he shits again. This routine continues at least 6 times until he finally exclaims "MOMMA. This. is. ridiculous! There's poop everywhere." There literally was. He had it behind his knee cap, entire butt cheek, full frontal, his foot, and he kept poking it, so he also had it smeared on his hand and kept reaching out to me to fix it. Why are boys so afraid of poop?
In all 30 years of my existence, I never even thought that I would be absolutely content with spending my entire day covered in poop. But you know what? This was my vacation. No phone, No internet interruptions, no work expectations, just me and my baby. My homie. My lil man of the house who barks orders and tries to get me to play catch with a water bottle when I'm trying to fold laundry only to have my face be the mitt. He'll only be little for so much longer and every chance I get, I plan to just scoop him up for a hug and a kiss and set him back on his feet only to have him run away and run right back into my arms for one more kiss, one more hug, one more I love you soo much, Momma.
Wednesday morning started off just like any other. I woke up, checked my email, the weather, my sad and lonely bank account, then set off to take a shower. I should probably mention that I got maybe 3 hours of sleep since Bryson had been up coughing all night despite me slathering him in Vix and blasting the humidifier all through the night. Regardless, I did my typical routine of applying make up, pressing my work clothes, packing my lunch, and drinking a pot of coffee. When it came time to get Bryson ready, he was feverish. Still hacking up a lung without any sign of phlegm. I was set on going to work and leaving him to fend for himself at school. However, I decided to ask him what he wanted to do.
Me: You want to stay home with Momma or go to school?
Bryson: I want to nap.
Me: So you want to stay home?
Bryson: Momma, I said I want to nap with you!
So that was that. I texted my supervisor and called the daycare to let them know we (Momma Bear and Baby Bear) were staying home. Here I thought we would get to sleep in, snuggle the rest of the morning, eat pancakes... nerp.
About 30 minutes into me returning to bed, Bryson turns to me in shock and asks "MOMMA, where. Is. My. Firetruck!" I sigh... It's in your room... His cute, tired countenance turns into one of shock and horror. "MOMMA! GO GET ITTTTTTTT!" I jump out of bed, run to his room to retrieve his prized possession, and hop into bed only to find him climbing out of it because he's ready to get up.
Okay. That wasn't too bad. Then he complained he was too hot. So I took off his pajamas. Then he complained he was too cold. So I put on his pajamas. Then he complained his legs were too hot. So I removed his pajama pants. Then he exclaimed he had to poop. We have been successfully potty trained for almost a month now. Peeing in the potty and staying dry...we're pretty much expert level on thanks to stickers and cool big boy underwear sent to us from family in Ohio. Pooping; however, no....not so much. We sat on the potty for maybe 5 seconds and he sighed "Momma, I think I'm done." We head downstairs to watch some monster trucks on Youtube via our Apple TV and I notice he's standing, but sort of doing the twerk. You know when you stand, but stick your butt out and bounce it? Yes. That. He's doing that move and I notice a rather foul fragrance coming from his general direction.
Me: "Baby, did you poop?"
Bryson: "NO! You stink!"
Me: Are you sure??
Bryson: No Momma Quiiiiiiittttt. (Then, he runs away from me)
I catch him. Check the pants...Poop all in his underwear and half up his back. Not hard, not liquid, but the really wet, soft, mooshy kind of poop that spreads like melted sticky peanut butter everywhere. I clean him up. Sit him on the potty. He tries for a second. Quits out of exhaustion from pushing. We put the pants back on...he shits again. This routine continues at least 6 times until he finally exclaims "MOMMA. This. is. ridiculous! There's poop everywhere." There literally was. He had it behind his knee cap, entire butt cheek, full frontal, his foot, and he kept poking it, so he also had it smeared on his hand and kept reaching out to me to fix it. Why are boys so afraid of poop?
In all 30 years of my existence, I never even thought that I would be absolutely content with spending my entire day covered in poop. But you know what? This was my vacation. No phone, No internet interruptions, no work expectations, just me and my baby. My homie. My lil man of the house who barks orders and tries to get me to play catch with a water bottle when I'm trying to fold laundry only to have my face be the mitt. He'll only be little for so much longer and every chance I get, I plan to just scoop him up for a hug and a kiss and set him back on his feet only to have him run away and run right back into my arms for one more kiss, one more hug, one more I love you soo much, Momma.
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