My Life is Poop
I've seen some people doing "day in the life" type posts recently on their blogs. The only thing anyone needs to know to get an idea about a day in my life is this little glimpse right here:
I'm changing M's diaper. It's a poopy one, and prevented him from drifting off into a late-morning nap. As I'm slipping the fresh one under his bum he spits up. Something about tipping his lower half higher than the upper half, right after a meal, made the milk come right back out. I should have known better. I should be grateful it's only spit-up and not something out the other end. I finish diapering him, carry him over to the crib, strip him, and change him into a fresh pair of pjs. Then I peel the cover off the changing table, since it's now soaked, and replace it with a clean one. I carry M out to the living room. As we enter the room I hear the unmistakable sound of E pooping. She gives me a gummy grin. I deposit M on the playmat and scoop E up, carrying her into the nursery for her diaper change. Moo follows, zooming one of his toy cars along the wall. "Whatcha doin', Mama?" he asks. I tell him I'm changing E's diaper because she pooped. "Yes, you pooped!" I coo at E, because that's what mom's do- they coo descriptions of every little thing they do at their babies. "M pooped, then E pooped!" And that's when I catch a whiff of something much more pungent and ten times nastier than a breastmilk poop diaper. "Moo," I ask, "did you poop?" He runs his car along the toy box in the nursery a moment longer, then stands up and says, "No... I'm just going to go hide in my room for a little bit." Code for: I'm just going to go finish pooping in privacy.
Yep, that about sums it up.
