This is a post is about poop. Just a little warning for you. You are welcome.
Carina has been a little fussy today. This is very unusual for her, as long as I haven't been eating dairy. I haven't been, so I was wondering what was going on, 'til I remembered that she hasn't had a good poo in four or five days. As she fussed, I layed her on her back and pushed her legs toward her tummy. She immediately let out some nice gas, so I knew that the system back-up was her problem.
But alas, this post is not about sweet baby poo. Oh no.
As I lay with the fussy baby on my bed, trying to get her to sleep, I was also trying to get her older brother Oliver to lay still for ten consecutive minutes so he could drift off for a desperately needed nap. I was turned away from him when I heard yelling, "I have____ on my hands!"
And no, this post is not even about my own child's poo.
The screaming was coming from the other room, where I had put my nephew down for a nap. I had no idea what he was saying was on his hands. I told him to come into the bedroom, and as he did, I saw for myself. Poop. And I saw that he had no diaper on.
Further inspection and the poopy diaper was found in the other bedroom. Poop was not just on his hands. Oh no. It was also on the walls, my friends.
As I scrubbed the brown hands, walls, and behind, I reminded myself over and over again, "Your parents have been barfed on by your kids. Bobby has taken care of Ollie in the dead of the night. You can clean up your almost-3-year-old nephew's poo with patience and understanding."
I got through it and went on with my day, pushing it from my mind 'til I sat down here at the computer, Carina on my lap, fussing a little because she still hasn't pooped. Then I remembered, and I thought,
"Well now, that's the most exciting thing that has happened today."
Which is the part I find "funniest" of all.
For similar posts, please see here and here.
