On the hunt for stuff to get into, October 2011
Today, I am sorry to admit, my baby ate his own poop.
Need I say more?
He has become a total squirmy monkey during diaper changes, and this morning, he almost managed to kick the dirty diaper off the edge of the changing table. I caught it, but a tiny bit of poop must have fallen onto the floor, because after I had cleaned him up and re-diapered him and set him down and washed my hands, I turned back to see him putting a little light-brown, squishy thing into his mouth.
"What is that? Is that POOP?" I screamed.
This reminded me of a movie clip I saw once that often runs through my mind in these kinds of insane parenting moments, where the Experienced Mom analyzes the brown substance on her toddler's face. "Poop, or chocolate?" she asks, grabbing her child's dirty face while her childless sister looks on, horrified. "Poop, or chocolate? Poop, or chocolate?" She swipes a finger through the mystery substance and into her mouth. "Chocolate!" she proclaims.
This was like that, except there was no chocolate around.
There are two possible reactions to a moment like this: laugh or cry. And today, because Emry has an ear infection and is on antibiotics and isn't sleeping well and I don't know if these facts are related or he's just decided to stop sleeping well, and because two nights ago Elan woke up at 11 p.m. having spewed vomit all over his bed, sheets, mattress, pillows, stuffed animals, blankets, sleeper and himself, and because Elan then couldn't go to school yesterday which made his 4-day weekend into a 5-day weekend, and because that reduced the amount of time I have to do what I need to do from marginal to ridiculous, and because I'm feeling Mama-ed out right now what with someone always needing something, getting into something, crying over something, making a mess, waking me up, or sick, I cried.
Maybe next time I'll laugh. Except I'm really hoping to not have a next time. Really hoping.