Off To A Stinky Start (No Photo Today!)

Mornings are a busy time in our house as I'm sure you can imagine. Everyone needs to be fed, dressed and set to their daily tasks before 8 am and it's usually accomplished without incident. That was not the case this morning.

Today is special. Biscuit's middle school is performing in the CMEA (California Music Educator's Association, I think) music festival and it's taking place in Hayward. "Well, that's close enough for us to go," said I, so that's the plan for the afternoon. However, for the afternoon plans to go smoothly I have to make sure that the morning goes well-- otherwise I will have on my hands two very grouchy Beans and somehow I don't think Biscuit or the rest of his band crew would appreciate my bringing squawking, fussing, ScreamScreamScreaming Beans to his concert.

Anyway, we all got up and the Beans ate in the kitchen. Daddy's had a cold since Sunday and hasn't wanted to be around them because how much would I like him if he gave it to them? Not enough to allow him to live here anymore. That's how much. So the Beans, who usually anjoy breakfast in bed with Daddy and Mommy have been a little out of their routine.

Normally, Pooki's a good little pooper. She's regular, predictable and generally not too messy. But, get a baby off her routine and bad things start happening. The first thing we noticed was, of course, the smell. Definitely more pungent than normal, I chalked it up to the peas and brown rice she'd thoroughly enjoyed last night. Hubby left for work and I got down to business. With both Beans in the Playground (that's what we're calling the Cage now-- more on that later) I unzipped Pooki's pajamas and was met with a poop disaster of epic proportions.

Oh, my God. This was one of the most fetid, unholiest craptastrophes any human has ever witnessed and I knew from my first glimpse at the unbelievable amount of poo smeared all over the inside of the Bean's jammies that I was going to have to call for assistance.

Ringring... "Hello?"

"Honey, I really need help. Can you come back in?"

"Sure. Be right there,"

You're probably thinking, "So it was a little bit of poo... you can't handle a little bit of poo? What kind of wimpy mom are you?" I would probably be thinking the same thing. Ordinarily poo does not intimidate me unless it's flying toward my head. But what was at issue here was that BOTH Beans were in the Playground and Pipsi was making toward the ten-pound-poo-fiasco in Pooki's diaper (and pajamas and all over her tummy and back and thighs) with a great deal of interest and I was suddenly hit with the realization that as bad as this was, we were all about eight seconds away from it being much, much worse. Both Beans have recently begun whacking, grabbing and yanking on themselves in the ladybits during diaper changes. Cute, right? Not when poo is involved, I'm afraid.

Fortunately, Hubby made it inside in time for us to avoid poo on the fingers, hair, faces, mouths, carpet, quilts, and Katie, and his arrival made me appreciate yet again what a cool thing it is to have him so close. Because let's face it: Sometimes there's just too much poo for me to go it alone. And, if I am going to suffer through the indignity (and disgust) of having poo smeared all over the house, there's nothing I want more in the world than to share the experience with the love of my life. Or Hubby-- whomever happens to be there.