I shouldn't share this story - it seems wrong to put Ben's bizarro behavior on display for the Wide Wide World of Web to enjoy. But frankly he deserves it because he almost pushed me to put in my notice. Turns out there is no 2-week notice process for quitting being a mother. Apparently this is a lifetime gig. SOMEONE OUGHT TO TELL YOU THESE THINGS BEFORE YOU GET HYPNOTIZED BY THE SQUISHY NEWBORN FACE.
Ben has been delighting exactly one person - himself - recently with his new talent of taking his pants & diaper off. Lovely. Pee pee in his bed, frantic parents changing sheets, pee pee on the rug, frantic parents cleaning it up, all the while begging the boy to cut it the hell out.
Today he took it to a whole new level.
I was in my room putting lotion on when I see Ben streak by with no pants on, trying to get into the bathroom where he thinks I am. I run into the loungeroom to see what the damage is & notice not a puddle of pee but two big blobs of poop instead. It takes me about half a second to realize I need to get back to Ben & leave the poop for now. And I was right. His hands are covered in poop, his shirt is covered in smeared poop & OH. MY. WORD. his mouth is smothered in poop. He is trying to eat it off his hands (he hates having dirty hands) & smells like a cow field. I get a bubble bath going, clean all the poop off of him that I can & throw him in the tub.
In intervals of about 30 seconds I run to the washing machine to soak his clothes in stain removing stuff, run back to the bathroom to check on Ben, run to the rug to see what I'm going to need, back to check on Ben, stuff some toilet paper up my nose, check on Ben, run back to the rug for clean up & here is where time slooooowed right down.
I've got a bit of a sensitive stomach, which is why I have stuffed toilet paper in my nostrils. I scoop up Ben's diaper & use more toilet paper to pick up his poop & drop it into the diaper so I can bundle it all up, put it in a diaper disposal bag & be done. Halfway through this my stomach starts rolling so I hurry & bundle up his diaper, drop it (not making a mess thankfully), start panicking that I'm going to spew. I don't want to ruin the rug if his poop plus old food stains haven't already done it so I go for the only other option - I'm not a proud woman. I pull the toilet paper scraps out of my nose & puke into it. So now I've got a poopy diaper baggy in one hand, pukey toilet paper in the other & run back to the bathroom to check on Ben. Dispose of everything, sit on the floor of the bathroom to lecture Ben on exactly how bad this day is. Call Marcel to commiserate. Sit on the floor & feel sorry for myself a bit more. Finally get Ben out, diapered in some old pull-up type diaper we bought once but didn't like (can't remember why), hoping Ben will be confused by the lack of tabs to peeeeeel off like he adores doing. He's all dressed, teeth brushed, drank a bottle of milk (I have no idea why I chose that), I've done my internet research to make sure he'll be fine - he will - & then I rush back to the bathroom & puke my fool head off. Mind you Ben has learned how to open the bathroom door so I can't even puke in peace because he bursts in like that terrifying Kool-Aid man & whoops in delight.
This motherhood business is killing me & now it's even ruined Froot Loops for me.