Oh what a day.
I wish that I
Had run away..."
Or something.
Why are children obsessed with bodily functions? I, for one, would be perfectly happy never to acknowledge that they take place, and I certainly don't enjoy talking about them. I'm not a prude, but, well, I'm convinced that most said functions are a result of The Fall.
And in case you haven't figured it out, this post is not for the weak constitution, the prim, or, probably, those who haven't been puked on, peed on, or otherwise annointed by their own "little digestive tract with arms and legs."
We are potty training Mercy. She's actually doing quite well. This evening she ran over to the potty, sat on it, then leaped back up, excited that she'd put a miniscule bit of, well, poo in the potty. So I praised her and gave her the "potty candy" that she is allowed to eat every time she performs on the potty. A few minutes later, she started fussing and asked for a diaper. I knew she had to go more, so I told her to go sit on the potty. She ran over, perched on the potty for about 5 seconds, then launched off the seat and requested that I inspect her accomplishment, which was much like the first. I told her that she had to sit on the potty longer than that to finish going, and she unhappily sat back down. She sat there for at least 10 minutes, to no avail. I haven't decided if she is doing this to get candy multiple times or if she's really just unsure of the new process. Finally, we repeated the scenario a third time (with similar unspectacular results), except this time, I turned around in time to see Judah squeezing his fat arm into the potty while she was sitting on it! ACCKK! I gave up for the time being.
A little later, I was playing with Play-Doh with Mercy at the dining room table when Judah, who had been whirling around like a destructive force of nature, disappeared I knew not whence. I suspected the utility room, since he has a fascination for scooping dog food into the dog's water dish. I walked into the room, and he wasn't at his usual post. Then I saw him. He was in the dog's crate, as far back as he could squeeze, resting on his elbow and placidly chewing my special rustic candle in a tin holder. With effort, I finally dragged him from his private sanctuary. He KNOWS he's not allowed to touch those candles, so I can only guess he went and hid so that he could chew in peace without getting in trouble. It was the toddler equivalent, I think, of smoking out behind the barn.
Near bedtime, I decided to give the children baths, whether they needed it after rummaging in potties or not. They are finally big enough that I can put them in the tub and just sit beside them instead of having to get in with them to keep them from cracking their heads open or drowning one another. So I was sitting there with one eye on them and one eye on a magazine while they played. Suddenly, Mercy started wailing and got up, looking in the water in consternation. There was a pile of...not pee...trailing in the water. (Come on, after the disclaimer at the beginning, did you really think I wouldn't revisit this?) I grabbed Mercy out, then Judah, and stood them on the rug. I held onto Judah's hand as I frantically tried to rescue all the toys. All the while, Mercy is howling, "I sceered. I sceered." I said "What are you scared of?" "The poopy!" she sobbed, as if the offending objects would suddenly drag her by the ankles down the drain. The water, which I had generously drawn deep with mounds of bubbles, took forever to drain. I decided I needed two hands for the toys, so I let go of Judah, who promptly streaked out of the bathroom. The last I saw of him was a wet, bare bum disappearing around the corner. I finally got the toys rescued, water drained, the tub and mat clean, and the offending foreign objects fished out. Meanwhile, in another part of town, I found Judah, dripping wet, on tiptoes, playing the piano in the living room. You'll understand, I'm sure, that, adorable as his tippytoe feet dripping on the carpet and blonde bobbing head were, I didn't quite feel like bursting into "Sing us a song/You're the piano man/Sing us a song tonight/Well, we're all in the mood for a melody/And you've got us all feelin' all right." I know. I'm a killjoy like that. I ended up getting in and giving them a shower, as I hadn't washed them before I let them play (lesson learned.) Then again, would it really have mattered? I guess sitting in contaminated water would have negated the scrubbing anyway.
After everyone was CLEAN and diapered for bed, I fed them a snack. Somewhere around this time, I starting breathing a foul wind. Anyone who's potty trained a little one probably knows where this is going. After all the half efforts on the potty and in the bathtub (which actually was a negligible amount to cause such a ruckus) Mercy reverted to her comfort zone and unapologetically blessed me with a nasty diaper. I changed her, and laid the dirty diaper, folded clean side out, of course, on the toy box since we're out of diaper genie liners. I put a fresh diaper on her and turned to see Judah chewing on the dirty diaper. Blech. Gag. ACCCKKK! Yes, it was the OUTSIDE of the dirty diaper, but STILL.
These are the things you'd never dream of when you look into that angelic infant face for the first time.
And to top off my day, I decided tonight was the night to move Judah out the bathroom (blush) and in with Mercy. I'm a masochist like that. So far, all is quiet. We'll see if it stays that way.
**Snort** Snicker**
Right.
UPDATE: My pessimism was rewarded. I had barely hit "Publish Post" when all heck broke loose. 11:00 pm found me with two shrieking kids, breaking down the pack-n-play to move BACK to the bathroom (who designed those stupid things that they won't fit through a standard doorway without tearing the whole thing apart? Not a mom, for sure.) They were still up when Benj got home from work after midnight, and it was nearly 2 am until there was peace in the house again. I guess Judah will be sleeping in the bathroom for the forseeable future.
