Gross Things

Being a mom can be a gross job.  Take yesterday for instance. My sweet Bear Cub pooped her pants FOUR TIMES. Yes. Four times.  Before I go into detail, I should mention that she has trouble "dealing the deuce" in a bathroom that she unfamiliar with. She prefers to test things out with a couple of pee sessions before she feels comfortable enough to bomb a bowl.

First up- our trip to the dentist office. Bear Cub was so nervous that I had to hold her in my lap while the assistant tried to count her teeth.  I thought maybe with all the clinging and she just tooted a little. I thought wrong. After that, we went to a play date at a friends house. She hasn't been there enough recently to get into her comfort zone, hence, number two #2. After the play date, we had to go to Target. I think she just figured since she's been doing it all day, why not just drop a load right there in the cart.  We finally returned home and I thought she'd be able to just relax and everything would work out fine for the rest of the night. 

She put on her swimsuit, but it was raining, so we told her to get dressed. Instead of taking off her swimsuit first, she just put clothes on over top. When the moment came, she was ready. She ran to the potty; happy to be home. Only she waited too long, and now she couldn't get her one piece swimsuit off fast enough. 

There were other fish to fry, so I just put the swimsuit in the Haz-mat bag with the other three outfits she wore that day. Then, I forgot about all of it. Until this morning, when I was potting some new herbs.  I'll spare you the train of thought that got me from A to B, but I am guessing you can do the math and figure out how I remembered that I had 3 pairs of panties and a swimsuit that I needed to get poop out of.

Every mother with this problem faces the question "In which sink do I wash out the poop filled panties?"  Of course, you could do it in the kitchen sink, but come tonight when you are rinsing off strawberries, all you'll smell (even if only in your head) is poo. Poo Poo Poo.  So you head to your bathroom, but then you remember that you'll want to put your toothbrush under that very faucet. And you're just going to think about little specks of feces that you might have missed when bleaching out the sink. 

This was about the time I got the bright idea to treat the panties just like we treat the girls when we get back from the beach - hose them off in the driveway.  It was a brilliant idea and I was feeling pretty smart about the whole thing. That is, until two nice ladies came strolling in front of our house. I saw myself through their eyes. A sweaty woman with crazy fuzzy hair popping out of a very unkempt pony tail, shirt pulled up over her mouth and nose, squatting next to a small laundry basket, holding the corner of a brown streaked pair of panties while she blasted the crotch of them with the garden hose. 

I could see what they were thinking, and it's the first time the thought entered my own head "Why doesn't she just throw them away?"    Hopefully they saw me potting herbs earlier and just think I'm some sort of hippie.  Anyhow, if I don't remember just to toss those suckers next time, hopefully I will at least remember to use the hose on the back of the house.