So I had an evening last night. You the kind I’m talking about. The kind where you leave work super excited to go home and eat a delicious dinner, play with the child you’ve missed all day and accomplish a few things on your to-do list….but reality is NOWHERE NEAR that pretty picture you’ve been envisioning all day.
It started with a text from T, “I’m going to be a little late tonight.” Alright, no big deal, I can handle a 1.5 year old on my own for a little while until T makes it home. This might delay dinner just a bit, but no biggie. Turns out, to my husband, a ‘little late’ means a complete hour. To those of you without a toddler running about while you’re trying to unwind from work and make dinner, an hour may seem like no big deal. In our house, with a kid that demands snack the minute he walks in the door and will tolerate nothing less than serving him his pre-dinner snack RIGHTTHISMINUTE, an hour is an eternity. On top of that, we’re currently eating paleo, so this mama is ravenous – aka hangry with little to no patience.
Somehow we fumbled through Q’s dinner and ended up with a kid covered in hummus and requiring a bath (T is still nowhere to be found, and I’m now Hangry with a capital H). Bathtime begins and Q is loving it, as per the usual. I’m enjoying my time as well, sitting on the bathroom floor and scrolling through my FB feed. Next thing I know, I hear an tiny toddler ‘uh oh’ and see him making a face at 2 floating blobs that definitely weren’t bath toys. Awesome. I quickly grab the kid and pull him from the tub before the floating turds can touch him, and in doing so, get a cupful of shit bathwater dumped down my frontside from a toy that was still in his hand. I quickly corral the toys and start to drain the bathwater, but I hear a very distinct splashing noise coming from the direction of Q. Hoping it isn’t what I thought it was, I look over to the naked child standing next to me and see a stream of pee landing on the bathroom rug. This has now turned into the most eventful bath of Q’s (and my) life. I attempt to scoop the poo out of the tub with toilet paper, but it just disintegrates and I’m basically left with a very soggy and ineffective barrier between my hands and the turds while I transport them to the toilet.
To recap, I currently have 2 adult sized turds essentially in my hands, soaking wet clothes from the contaminated bathwater, and a naked Q standing in a pool of pee on the bathroom rug. T is still not home.
I begin to scrub the tub so that I can finish up bathtime when I hear a knock on the door. T pokes his head in with a smile and an excited greeting, takes once glance at soaking wet me scrubbing the tub and buck naked Q trying to turn the water back on, and smartly declines to comment. I wrapped up round 2 of bathtime while T cooked our dinner, and I left the boys to figure out bedtime on their own.
Since I couldn’t open a bottle of wine on this paleo thing, I went to the mall instead and picked up new pair of boots. Brown boots. Boots that are similar in color to the floaters. Boots that will forever remind me of the poop bath of 2016.