He better get a 4.0

Sam's definitely an overachiever, for he has topped himself once again in the poop department.

Picture it: Father's Day, 9:00am. We're just sitting down to breakfast at a diner we like and Heath fishes Sam out of his carrier. As he picks Sam up I notice a telling stain dripping down his shorts. STEALTH POOPER STRIKES AGAIN! And even though usually on the weekends I make Heath take care of the poop, it was Father's Day so I threw myself on the grenade.

Wonderfully, the little diner we like so much doesn't have a changing table in the bathroom. *sigh* So I dragged Sam out to the car (holding him at arm's length the whole time) and set up shop in the trunk (thank goodness for SUV's).

The first thing I realized was that there was a lot of poop in his shorts and there was no way I was getting them off without smearing it EVERYWHERE. So I bit the bullet and pulled them off, coating his legs in his own excrement. And of course a 7 month old won't stop kicking his legs just because they're covered in feces, so it was really a lovely sight. I'm sure everyone in the packed parking lot appreciated it.

At this point in the story I want to take a moment to thank my grandmother. She had the foresight to give me a plastic bag dispenser for the car and it REALLY came in handy during this situation. Thanks, Grandma! :)

So, I opened up the diaper and discovered that somehow Sam had managed to poop directly OUT of the diaper. The middle of it wasn't even soiled. He's learned how to defy physics! This does not bode well for me.

I managed to subdue his kicking legs and clean him off. Luckily I'd just put a new package of wipes in the diaper bag, otherwise we'd have lost Russian roulette. I contemplated what to do with the shorts for about two seconds and then I chucked them in the trash. Not worth it.

I think this kid is trying to break my spirit. He's pooping 3-4 times a day and now there's no break. It's just poop all the time. That is what my life is right now. Cleaning up other people's poop (and cat vomit).

And now I think my children are ganging up on me. But that's a story for another day...

(Ooohh, cliff hanger!)

Our mothers keep us honest

My most recent post, Bink-ified, generated this comment from my mother, "I'm sorry my dear, but this one made me laugh out loud. You, of all people, raising a binky addict? Shocking! At least he can't be snotty with women at Target about it yet!"

The reason for the comment is that I used a binky until I was 5. Apparently it was quite difficult* to break me of that habit. However, it did lead to the following anecdote, which my grandmother delights in telling anyone who will listen:

When I was 4 or 5 my grandmother had taken me to Target and of course I had my trusty binky. We were walking along and suddenly an old woman said to me, "You're too old for a pacifier." Apparently I looked at her, took the binky out of my mouth and very indignantly said, "I need it." Then I popped it back in. My grandmother said she never worried about me after that because she knew I could take care of myself.

Hopefully Ben won't have the binky that long, but it would be funny to see him tell off an old lady.


*My parents and grandparents may disagree with that wording and have something more colorful to substitute.