Holy Mary Mother of Poo, we have had one CRAPPY weekend! And yes, I am speaking literally. (For those of you new to the site, I enjoy discussing my family's trials and tribulations regarding poo, and I strongly urge the rest of you to do the same -- it's very liberating!)
Right. So, hide your disgust for the time being, sit back and enjoy my shitty stories.
Shitty Story #1: Jax crapped 2 blueberries. WHOLE. Round and juicy and perfectly plump. I.am.astounded. I can barely rinse blueberries off without practically pulverizing them, and here he is, fully digesting the little suckers and they come out perfect. That is one superior pooping machine, folks. Color me PROUD.
Shitty Story #2: Ryan is currently on Augmentin(aka: Aug-makes-her-poo), which, say it with me Moms, CREATES HORRIBLE DIARRHEA, hence the nickname. So there we are at the bookstore, when she suddenly gasps, "Mom! I have to poop!" No stranger to the effects of the evil antibiotic, I rush her to the potty immediately. She does her business, et al, and we walk out to search for more books. Not 30 seconds later, she's dashing for the bathroom again, and because I'm wielding the monster stroller, I don't catch up to her before she makes it to the potty. As I open to bathroom door to check on her, she starts shrieking and I think twice about going in. Seriously, nothing good can come of a pre-schooler shrieking in the bathroom.
Anyway, it turns out our poopy princess was not able to make it to the potty in time, and thus had shat (hee) all over EVERYTHING.The toilet, the floor, her panties, her skirt, her shoes. At this point, she is on the verge of freaking out, so while I'd love nothing better than to freak out myself, I breathe deeply (though not too deeply, you understand), and set out to clean up the mess, assuring her it will all be okay, all the while wondering what the hell I'm gonna do about getting her out of the store. We have no extra clothing, and her shirt comes nowhere close to covering her nether regions. What to do, what to do???? I know! I'll check our traveling toy box/cafeteria/trash can, and maybe there will be something in there. So (here comes the MOTY part) I lock Ry and Jax (in monster stroller, of course) in the handicap stall, and run out to the car. Now don't go freakin' out on me, y'all -- this is Half-Price Books we're talking about, not B&N. The parking lot is practically 2 feet from the bathroom door.
So I'm at the car, searching, searching, sear-- OOOH! I'll check the trunk! Woohoo!!! We have a winner folks, one large Disney Store shopping bag, just large enough to wrap around that cute Tiny Heiny. Thank you, thank you very much. The next challenge would be getting her to actuyally wear the thing, but since it had Mickey on it, there wasn't much struggle. 10 minutes later, we come hobbling vvveeerrrryyyy ssssssllllloooowwwwllllyyyy out of the bathroom, me directly behind her, uh, behind, she looking around fervently, Jax just laughing up a storm. Gives a whole new meaning to "I got your back", which of course was the mantra I was dorkily repeating to Ryan as we walked, causing her to keep turning around to ask, "What?", rendering the whole manuever pointless.
Shitty Story #3: Okay, so this one doesn't have anything to do with poo, it's just a crappy story. Shawn tore his $300 contact Saturday night, which is enough to bring our whole world to a stop, so we got him into the eye doctor Sunday afternoon, and guess what? Cataracts. 28 yrs old, and he'll be swapping surgery stories with my grandfather. Poor baby. So not only do we have Ry's surgery to look forward to next week, we've now got another planned for the summer.
That's okay, I'll just wear my bathing suit to both and get a little hospital flourescent-light tan in while I wait. Like my own personal tanning salon, with sick people!
Because after all, it is all about me, right?