Tastes Like Chicken…

This morning produced one of those shiver inducing, gag reflex kind of moments. Upon entering the girls’ room to get them ready for the day, I smelled the typical smell of nasty pants. Deducing the culprit was the younger, caged child, I went about picking out adorable dresses for them to wear in celebration of Father’s Day. Ella was happily flitting around the room in a frenzy of imaginary play and Lily was content to just stand around watching, babbling to anyone who would or wouldn’t even listen. 

I decided it was time to tackle the poop monster and lifted her out of her crib. I noticed a few little smears on the sheets and was suddenly realizing the convenience of having her only sleep in a dress/diaper combination was rearing its dark side. There was leakage, all over. And to make it worse, someone had decided they needed to play with it and rub it around items in the crib. Like sheets, blankets, special blankies and PACIFIERS! Yes, my adorable little girl was vigorously sucking on a pacifier that was covered in her own feces! That was definitely a panic inducing moment. Where to start?! First, the pacifier was abruptly ripped from her mouth and tossed to the floor, as were the blankets, etc. But when I tried to change her, I realized it was between her fingers and under her nails. This was going to require a soaking. So, I grabbed a nearly naked baby and snapped Ella out of her imaginary world and whisked both of them downstairs for Lily’s bath.

While I feel like I should be more disgusted by my child eating her own poop. I read somewhere that your own poop isn’t the problem, since your body is used to your own gut. I’m going to go with that for now…it helps me feel better.

Loran was blissfully unaware of the poop-fest happening above him as he got ready in the basement. It was Father’s Day after all, the one day he can be relieved of the realities of being a father. The reality that Hallmark seems to gloss over when writing their cards. parenthood is not for the faint of heart. You don’t get to leave it behind when you grab the last bus out towards home. You don’t get to leave it behind when you sit down in your office, facing another day of meetings and PowerPoint. It’s a badge you mostly wear with honor, sometimes laced with shame or disbelief. Parenthood is filled with sh*t, literal and figurative.  Sometimes it’s filled with picture perfect moments, most of the times, those pictures are a little lot goofy. But luckily, parenthood is filled with hugs, smiles, milestones and laughter. Otherwise, the sh*t would be hard to take. And thankfully, there are washing machines, dryers and fantastic laundry detergents that let us gloss over that start of our day. By gloss over, I mean blog about it so the entire world, and my child will eventually know the trouble she put me through.