WARNING. The following may be disturbing to some readers. It represents the clear and present danger of raising children. Reader discretion is advised.
It was a biohazardous Thanksgiving weekend at the Wilson house. It actually started on Wednesday with a series of text messages from Jeremy. They went like this:
“Oi – it finally happened. One of them poo’d ALL over themselves to the point of having to have a bath. And it wasn’t the one I’ve been expecting to perform such a feat. They’re full of surprises…I hate surprises.”
“Do we have spare crib sheets?”
“You can tell your Poo-caso lady we have a little Jackson Poo-llick.” (In reference to the abstract nature of Maria’s poo art.)
“I gave her a quick bath. Wash clothes were not enough. She got some on G’s crib sheet before I realized the extent of the catastrophe that ushered forth from her butt.”
Now, I found this quite hilarious and looking back on it, my enjoyment of the situation is probably what got me in trouble later on in the weekend.
On Friday, we were on poo watch for Grant. It was day four with no action. A day or two is one thing, but I put a limit at four days. The last time he did this, just the threat of a glycerin suppository did the trick. By the evening, we still had no action, so I had to intervene. I apologized in advance and did the deed. Within ten minutes, he made his signature poo face, which is a mix of embarrassment and surprise. Yep, the plumbing was now working and that diaper was quite the treat!
Saturday, we had another adventure. Maria has had a little bit of a cold and slight cough. After nursing, she started to cough, then gag, and before I knew it, she threw up all over the couch and me. Now, this wasn’t the normal baby spit up that we’re all used to. Nope. It was vomit. And it was plentiful. It was at this point that I realized she swallowed more of her bananas that morning than I thought and I was thankful that our couch is treated with Scotchgard and cleans easily. I actually weathered this better than expected. I don’t do puke and have previously declared that unless he wants to clean up mine and theirs that Jeremy will be on puke duty when the kids get sick.
So there you have it. I guess you could say we asked for it.