Some of you are privy to "Email Rant #8,706" wherein a tale is told of a literal shit storm that had unfolded in the confines of my living room at the hands of one maniacal toddler hell bent on preventing me from ever again experiencing a Fowler's position. And of course, as any great story write will tell you, capturing the details necessary for any tale of epic proportion oft requires at least a sequel, if not *sigh* a proper trilogy. So... Without further ado, I bring to you part two: "The Continuing Shit Chronicals: The Public Article That Will in No Way Ever Come Back to Haunt Baby BB Once Dating Commences":
Baby BB wakes up in a great mood. Which was fabulous because he'd had trouble settling down last night. We run laps around the house for a bit, have some breakfast then, into the playpen for a movie while "Mommy has a cup of coffee". (This is where those familiar begin to perk up and smile in anticipation for what is to come. Should you find yourself unfamiliar with the prequel, the twists in the plot are predictable but the optics are worth sticking around for.) As the last of the brew kicks out of my pod brewer, I hear a certain tiny someone emptying his contents into packaging that I had provided moments earlier. I fix my cup as he finishes and head over to clean up little man. I'm cautious, as I often am these days, upon my approach. I reach the pen and little hands dart into the sky to signal for a pick up. Over to the changing station for clean up and back to the play pen. (Uneventful, which likely has you wondering if you are wasting your time. I assure you, you're not.)
So, off to do the dishes from breakfast and maybe start a load of laundry. With the water running I can't hear very much but I can see into much of the play pen. Just as I am finishing up, I see Baby BB crouch down below the line of the couch. Is he playing? Is he going again? I wonder. I shut off the water only to hear the LOUDEST, the WETTEST poop noises I've ever heard from any human, no less a baby. (Now, we must have pinpointed the disturbance from the night prior. Nobody shits like that without having had a stomach ache. They just don't.) I walk over immediately because, well, this is serious shit. As I peer into the play pen, I find Baby BB in a Dumb and Dumber bathroom moment that just will not end. I mean, I stand in stunned silence for a hot second at the sheer magnitude of what I am witnessing from this tiny human. My glance finally shifts past him only to find the pillow he had been crouched over simply covered and a still shitting baby in a completely soaked through diaper. (Mind you, he had just had a full diaper changed maybe four or five minutes prior.) I rush him off to the bathtub to wash him up. Results: Soap everywhere, a curiosity for everything except getting clean and a proud bath-soaked mama relishing at dominance.
With bath done, I get Baby BB dried off and let him run naked throughout the main part of the house, closing off all necessary byways. I commence to collect all cloth items from the play pen, casualty or not, and clean up the remaining mess. As I complete this task, Baby BB grabs a can of "Stars" from the dining room table. He takes the top off and dumps the entire contents of the can onto the floor... And steps in them to crunch them up into tiny crumbs. Laughing (because, what else can you do at this point?) I walk to the garage to grab the broom to sweep this new mess before I can even start the laundry for the old mess, coincidentally bumping all other laundry for the day. When I return, I find little crumb footprints from one end of the house to the other. I was gone less than 10 seconds! With Short Stack still running wild... and naked, I tend to sweeping up the mess. Of course, the sneaky streaker does all he can to thief said stars from the dirt pile. But alas, he is no match for my ninja mama skills. (I know. I have no clue why they couldn't be used to prevent such an unnatural disaster, either.) I start the laundry and smile as I gaze upon that glorious clock. With a disaster containment action plan in place, we find ourselves at nap time. Time to get dressed and prep a bottle of milk. We have to rest up for the next chapter of The Continuing Shit Chronicals.