World’s Grossest Morning

Suffice it to say that this blogging thing did not stick to me the way hummus seems to adhere to my child’s cheeks.  If I let him stew in his hummus-face a little too long during lunch, I have to pry it off him with a Brillo pad and Ajax.  Or whatever similar pairing would make me sound like I’m younger than 79 years old.  Do Brillo pads still even exist?  Anyway, the blogging thing hasn’t really stuck.

But it’s not the writing part that is my problem….it’s the posting.  It’s the sharing-with-the-world thing (even if that world is all of 7 visitors.)  It’s my perfectionist nature, preventing me from hitting PUBLISH when instead I could worry about re-reading, editing, finding time to re-write.  You know, finding time to make it sound so much more casual and off-the-cuff.  So today is a test — I am going to type this and NOT spend the rest of my precious nap-minutes reading it over.  I will finish, post, and then see how long it takes for me to feel insanely self-conscious.  If you are reading this, I guess I manned up and kept it up (or at least forgot all about it in the slurry of toddler activity.)

But back to my original point of being here:  sharing with you THE MOST DISGUSTING THING that has ever happened.  To anyone.  Ever.  If you are eating a sandwich right now, put it down.  If you are eating chocolate right now, do not read any further.  Trust me.

I woke this morning to a surprisingly gentle and playful “Mama?” over the monitor.  My son was up, but wasn’t unhappy about it.  Yippee!  That makes one of us!  It was early (6:10am) but not as stupid-early as it’s been lately, so I felt like I couldn’t really be annoyed to have to roll out from under the covers.  By the time I had brushed my teeth, he had settled, so I went downstairs for “coffee” (this means I turned the coffee maker on, sludged over to the couch and did not get back up.)  I realized that while Z had not gone back to sleep (since every so often I would hear him chatter something cute & nonsensical), he was calm and enjoying his crib time.  So I decided to let him hang out a while (the couch is really comfortable in the morning.)  Finally, around 6:45a he was done reciting his morning mantras & started to demand my presence.  So I went up to his room.  Opened the door.  He popped up, MOMMA!!  Happy, jumping.  I flipped on the light.  And that’s when I saw it — the first incriminating piece.  There was something brown on the floor.

Why is there something on the floor?  It’s too big to be a bug (my insectophobia or whatever it’s called is the reason I always notice brown things on floors.)

Why is it brown?  He doesn’t have anything brown that he could have dissected in the crib.

Why does it look like poo?  Oh no, did the cats somehow get in his room and poop in protest??

My next few steps were slo-mo.  My eyes glided up from the brown floor lump to my son’s face as I took steps toward him.

Why is there brown on the bumper?

Why is there brown on the crib?  And the wall?  And the sheets?  And the blanket?

AND ON HIS FACE???

Yes.  You have journeyed there with me.  My son had pooped (a big one!) and somehow decided the right course of action was to reach back, dig on into the diaper, and scoop the poop out.  And then, given how my son does not like to have even one splotch of cream cheese on his hand while eating a sandwich, he obviously realized he needed to get the poop OFF his hands.  Which, apparently, meant wiping, spreading and smooshing into and onto every surface in his reach.

I’m guessing the PJs were first, followed by the crib slats and bumper in front of him.  When that didn’t get him clean enough, I’m guessing he took to the sheet, blanket and his lovey.  Somewhere along the way, he tried the wall behind the crib and his toy aquarium.  In transit, the floor get marred.  But when, oh when, did the hands go to his mouth?  I can only pray that he just had a bad itch and accidently rubbed the poo on his face.  And it settled AROUND HIS MOUTH.  <<<SHUDDER GAG SHUDDER>>>

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