Mine eyes have seen a very bad, bad thing. A thing I shared with one of my best friends this morning, but failed to share in full b/c it was just too horrific. I will inflict the entire story on all of you reader now. Picture this: I had Littlest J smartly dressed in a super cute outfit, visible in the photo at right, and securly snapped into his bouncey chair. He was happily sitting in the hallway while I got dressed for work just bouncing away. My husband came home from letting a friend's dogs out and picked our son up. This is where things went south...I noticed something that looked like mud on the floor and asked if he had stepped in mud b/c it was coming off of his shoes. I then noticed the same "muddish" looking substance on the bathroom floor where he was standing gazing into the mirror with Littlest. It clicked and as I looked up to scream, "Nooooooo, it's not muuuuuddd, it's pooooooop! There's pooooop cooming from his shoooorts!" I saw B sniff Littlest's butt and gag. We looked at each other - Bad Smell From Baby's Shorts + Trail of What Looks Like Mud = Explosive Poo Situation. Gagging louder now he ran itno the baby's room noticing then that he had been hit in the arm by poop shrapnel. Now this alone would have been just a funny incident to chalk up to those darn babies. But the story doesn't end there. Our dog Pete had been licking the chair where Littlest had been sitting the whole time, which didn't strike me as odd b/c sadly enough the dogs love to lick spitup which I have come to accept so you should too, but there was no spitup to be licked in that chair on this particular morn. No, no spitup. Oh but there was poop. While I stood there in shock he proceeded to walk into the bathroom and clean up the rest of the mess - with his mouth. Dear God and Baby Jesus. I will leave you with that and the sound of me gagging.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Over the past several days I have been tracking the movements of a stray hair extension one street over from my house. First, it simply sat there at the four way stop, like a lost lamb, then the rain came and the weave became a matted mess, hardly recognizable from its original state. As the days have passed the matted mane has moved a few feet to the left, inching ever closer to my house. I was tempted to take a picture the first time I saw it and email it to friends in case they were in the midst of a panic, looking for said lost weave, but I was afraid I would hold up traffic. And now the rain soaked lock really isn’t much to look at. My thought here is this...why in the hell am I raising my child in a neighborhood where a weave in the street isn't so truly, well, unbeweaveable? But alas, I love my 'hood and hope that the diversity that surrounds us will instill a sense of acceptance in my tine-tine baybay. And if that doesn't take at least he will have cat-like reflexes from dodging bullets and a never ending selection of hair accessories.