Mornings. Are there even words to describe how hectic and chaotic mornings can be? I know we all feel the same way and experience the same thing. But there are some mornings that reach a new level.
On one such morning it seemed to be just the usual chaos. The kids were "eating" their breakfast at the table with the three dogs circling under the table like sharks. Hubs was in the shower and I was already dressed in my suit downing my second cup of coffee. Now the easiest way for me to know that DC is done eating is when he gets two good handfuls of food, smashes them in his hair and then flings his plate like a frisbee across the kitchen. However, in my years of mommy hood practice I have learned to anticipate such an action and if I can swoop in quick enough I can avoid it. This is why I drink my second cup of coffee perched at the kitchen sink feigning disinterest all the while watching him like a hawk.
I began to see the signs and I quickly got the washcloth and ran hot water over it in preparation. As I rounded the counter top I saw him grab two handfuls of food. I started moving quicker trying to intercept him but I tripped over the dogs and came tumbling down. About the time I hit the floor I saw his plate fly inches above my nose and crash into the opposite wall. The dogs clambered over me to get the scraps. I jumped up and wiped his hands and hair and quickly unbuckled his seat belt. I sat him on the floor and he ran into my bedroom as I tried to ward off the dogs and clean up the smashed muffins and bananas.
From the bedroom I heard DC yell "UH-OH!" And saw him sprint out of the bedroom right past me and across the kitchen floor trailing footprints of something. It only took me a second to realize what it was.....poop. I jumped up and ran after him to see what on earth had happened.
When I caught up to him I saw that the diaper had just been no match on this particular morning and neon green (don't ask me why it is neon green) was oozing out of the diaper and dripping down one leg. At this point there is really only one option.
I could hear the shower still running so I quickly stripped DC down and ran holding him at an arms length toward the bathroom. As I opened the shower door and thrust him into the shower I heard my husband begin to protest.
"Babe! I don't have time to bathe him this- WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!?!"
"You have no choice," I breathlessly shouted back as I turned and ran back into the bedroom to assess the situation.
Right in front of the TV in our bedroom, on my cream carpet was a giant pile of neon green poop. Apparently when it happened DC just panicked, yelled "uh-oh," and ran to find me. As he ran out of the room he stepped in the pile and proceeded to track neon green footprints across my bedroom carpet and across the kitchen floor.
And this is how I found myself at 7:15 in the morning (wearing a very smart business suit) on my hands and knees scrubbing poop out of my bedroom carpet. I am almost certain that when I look back on my life and think of my thirties I will only remember the overwhelming smell of poop.