Parenting Firsts

Two words: Caddyshack. DOOOOODIE!

Ye olde, dreaded, poop-in-the-tub.

As I uttered the words, aloud, 'Are you pooping??', I saw it.
I lunged for her, and hefted her out of the water fast as lightening. Then held her by the armpits, slippery and dripping, over the tub as I evaluated the scene. Poop. Lots of it. Lots of little bits of it. Floating all over the place. Dear lord, how did she just get all that done so quickly?

She screams. Irritated that her beloved tubby-time has been cut short so abruptly.

I rush her to her room, get her into a diaper and pj's, and close the door to the bathroom. I'll deal with that later.

We spend a few minutes playing on the couch. It's her new favorite thing. She runs the length of it, falls over, throws pillows, lays down and says 'night night', then jumps up and runs on the cushions until she falls over again. Lots of giggling, from both of us. In the back of my mind, I'm imagining what the bath tub looks like right now. Toys, letters, that stupid Rainbow Fish book, rubber duckies, and little bits of poo: all hanging out together, bobbing around in the rapidly cooling water. Geee-ross.

A few minutes of playing on the couch is enough time to make me realise that she ain't done yet. I put a clean diaper on her, for the second time in minutes. How soon is bedtime?

Tyler comes home. She hears the key in the front door, from all the way in the back of the house, and yells 'DADA!!!' in the same excited voice that is, lately, reserved only for exclamations of 'DADA' or 'ELBO' (the television). He's brought wine, bless his heart, without even knowing the horror that awaits in the bathroom.

We play a bit longer then brush teeth, and DADA! does the bedtime routine while I get friendly with a bucket, a pair of rubber gloves, a bottle of bleach, and a scrubbing brush.

Still not even CLOSE to the worst crap I had to deal with this week.