The One Armed Poop Monster

There are days that are lovely and happy and all around joyful.

And then there are days like today, where the kids' moods perfectly mirror the grey, ominous, overcast sky.

Today, today we all needed nap time WAAAAAAAAYYYY before it ever friggin rolled around. But because I am a slave to the schedule (and I know exactly what happens when we deviate), I went ahead and waited until 1:00 to put them down.

Sterling has horrible allergies right now, and Bennett contributed sympathy whining from the moment he woke up, so it had been a long ass morning.

They both went to sleep almost immediately, which was a sure sign that they were exhausted. The house was quiet, the babies were snoozing, all was right with the world... until the doorbell rang. I am pretty certain I was about as chipper as Grumpy Cat to see the lady at the door.

I quickly wrapped that visit up, and shut the front door just as Sterling called out "Momma, I wannnnttttt you."

Usually the rule is, once that bedroom door closes, it stays closed. But then she followed up with the clincher. "Momma, I all poopy. I can't get it off." Which meant one of several things, none of which were good.

So running up the stairs two at a time, I open the door to find this, my happy little munchkin with a hand coming out the top of her jammies. Breathing an internal sigh of relief because it was NONE of the scenarios I envisioned, I started to undress her to fix it.

At which point I realized how premature that sigh of relief had been.

See, homegirl is a *bit* of a contortionist. And she had pulled her arm inside of her jammies. And unhooked her diaper. And pushed it down into the bottom of one leg of her jammies. Smearing poop EVERYWHERE.

I unzipped her jammies, and was momentarily tempted to zip them right back up again and go on with my day. Because there is no way in hell to recover from a pooptastrophie like that.

First I had to get the jammies off, then I had to take her into the bathroom and hose her down. Then I had to clean the poop off of the carpet where chunks had fallen when I initially unzipped her. And then the final fun part was that I had to wrangle her into a new diaper and jammies.

Any idea how hard it is to get a kid who has seen a glimpse of freedom back into their jammies? Pretty damn hard.

If reincarnation does exist, I either was a horrible, horrible poop fiend in the last life, or I am preparing to come back as a unicorn in the next one. Either one.

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