My Delicate Little Flower
By chartilly on February 28, 2012
We have been having some issues with Tilly keeping her pants on (daddy is praying this issue is long gone by high school). The theory is, per the pediatrician, that she has had such tummy issues over the last few months that she gets upset when there is anything in her diaper. In any case, if I keep her busy throughout the day I can pretty much guarantee she will now keep her pants on in public. This is big, as she has dropped her drawers in many public places. Our current issue is nap time. She has been fighting naps, and in her protests she throws everything out of her crib, takes off her pants and her diaper and we go from there. Yesterday, after i put her down, she started crying and calling for me and said "I poop" so I went up, changed her, read her another story, gave her some snuggles and kisses and put her back down. She snuggled into her pillow, hugged her baby, and closed her eyes. Before I was even down the steps shrieking, screaming, and general unhappiness. I let her cry it out. Once she quieted down, I let her sleep as long possible before waking her up to pick up Charlie from school. When I opened the door to wake her, I was smacked in the face by the smell of poo. It was like walking into a poo wall. I stopped in my tracks before flipping on the lights. In the dark I saw her pants and diaper (clean, dry and pristine I discovered) on the floor next to the bed and then I saw IT. IT was a turd, hanging precariously between the bars of the crib. Half still on the mattress. Gag! Normally, I am gentle and sweet when I need to wake my babies, given the shock of the smell and the "hanging turd" I flipped on the overhead lights. My darling Tilly was so exhausted that she didn't even stir. This gave me time to investigate the damage. "Mother Trucker" (I said it, the real one. If you were here you would have too). Poo was everywhere. She pooped on her bed and then picked up handfuls and flung it all over the room. Walls, carpet, glider, bedroom door, closets, changing pad. If her arm stays this powerful, college tuition won't be an issue if we steer her toward a career in softball. Dear God. Then I turned and surveyed my baby. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod! Oh. My. God! My sweet girl was face down on a poop-caked pillow, naked poop caked bootie up in the air, holding her favorite baby which is now also caked with poo. Poop smeared in her hair, under finger and toe nails and everywhere in between. Now what? Ten minutes to clean her up enough just to get in to the tub. Get her cleaned up and poop free and out the door to pick up Charlie from school. Thirty minutes later then usual, and for a kid who has no concept of time, he sure knows when to expect mommy to come. Our tardiness made him think we forgot him, and he was completely hysterical by the time we arrived. Still waiting for me at home was all the poop to clean off of almost everything in her room. Sheets, pillowcases, toys and anything else that can go into the washing machine. Scrub, scrub, scrub. While cleaning and disinfecting "poopapalooza" I called Nick at work and told him about what happened. At that point, I wasn't sure if I should laugh, cry or send her to live at a monkey house. It was a fifty degree day, probably the last we will get for months, did we get to enjoy the lovely weather outside at the park? Nope, I put on Sesame Street for the kids in our windowless basement and went upstairs to scrub everything. I used to love nap time, it was second only to bed time. Now I fear it.
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