Wednesday, April 28, 2010

OH. MY. GOD.

It happened. The dreaded thing that all Moms gossip about... only it's a story passed down from Mom to Mom because "it" only happens to other people. Well guess what my people, it happened to me. My kid crapped the bed. No, no, let me re-phrase that. She crapped and then she put it IN the bed. And then again. On the couch.

Nap time used to be a joyous ocassion. I could pay some bills, surf the net for a minute, eat something or just enjoy the "life of two" (or heck, even one!) for a bit. I'd put Livy down with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the head and quietly exit her room. If I was lucky she'd stay down for at least 2 hours and spend another 30 minutes afterward waking up and readjusting herself to the world. Now, with the above given events, nap time has a certain stigma attached to it. Mostly fear. A lot of worry. And a little bit of denial. I fear nap time for the obvious reason. Who really wants their toddler messing around with poop? Worry because if she does, will she get sick? Where exactly will she put it? If she does get sick how will I explain to the doctor the reason why I think she's throwing up? Is that even something you would take her to the doctor's office for? I can hear the phone conversation now: "Ummm... yeah, my kid isn't feeling well... Why? Oh, you know, she ate poop again." "What the F?" I can hear the operator saying to her co-workers over lunch as she discusses my case. Denial pops in because I am somewhat in denial that this will ever happen again. It's got to be a once in a lifetime child curiousty, right? And yet, I know that if I am not careful and take several precautions, it most certainly WILL happen. Livy is just that type of child. If you had told me that Riley would do this during his toddler years I would have laughed. "Yeah... right" I would have said. He didn't get into things. There was no curious behavior about things like what may lie underneath the kitchen sink and if there was, he never took action on it. Livy not only wants to know, she wants to feel it, taste it, and see what it looks like in her hair. This goes for almost everything including toothpaste, hair gel, hand soap and muddy water out back. So anyway, on this particular day I changed her diaper for the second time that morning, put her pants back on and laid her sweet little self down in bed for a nice long nap. Fast forward almost 3 hours later and I finally hear her squeals. Not bad squeals, more like the talking to herself that she does when she first gets up. I let her go for 15 - 30 minutes because I know she needs this time to fully wake up. If I get her immediately she is cranky. Go figure. So I hear the squeals and the usual "Mommy? Ri-wee? Baby?" which means she's ready. The first thing I notice when I open her bedroom door is a stench. No concern here though. She always ends her nap with a poop. It's strange, I know, but she's like clockwork when it comes to these things. I see her head pop up from the crib, hundreds of tiny curls bouncing with the momentum and she smiles a wide toothy grin. Out comes her evil laugh. If you spend any time with Livy, you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. Let me just follow this with a quick detail so you can better imagine this situation. The crib is positioned vertically from the door so if you walked into her room you would be looking at the foot of the crib where there are no slats. You can't see inside the crib until you are in the middle of the room and looking at it directly. In those first few miliseconds that I am in her room, I can't see anything but this head starting back at me. The next I am upon the crib and am in pure disbelief. First, my child is stark naked. Like, STARK naked. I know I didn't put her to bed this way. The most she's ever done is yank her socks off. She gets that from me. Strangled toes at bed time are restless toes all night. The next thing I notice is that all of the blankets, stuffed animals and her pillow are lying on the floor on the otherside of the head board and partially draped over a nearby stand-up floor fan. She's got a good arm. The third and most horrifying thing I notice is a brown substance all over the sheet and the crib bumper. It's also covering her pillow. Oh, and her butt and back. OH. MY. GOD. This takes the cake. This is a situation where you don't know what to say, where to look and above all else, where to start. Do I pick her up? I can't. I'll get poop all over myself. Do I try to wipe her off in the crib first? I can't, I'm too short to reach. I go running for a towel and wrap her in it. Pick her up and lay her down on the changing table. She's going to have to wait a minute. While I'm doing this she is repeating over and over again "Mommy, EWW!" which I am relieved about becase A) She realizes this is gross and B) She doesn't seem to have any on her hands which means she didn't touch it directly. At least I don't think she did. I'm still baffled by the items strewn around the room covered in poop. I don't know how she did all of this or managed to keep her hands clean in the process. I wipe her down from head to toe (a bath isn't in the stars right now, I've got too much to clean up at this point) and put her in a one piece pajama outfit with a zipper and a snap. "Now, try and get out of THIS you little booger" I tell her. Evil laugh again. This isn't looking good for me. She goes running when I put her down and I proceed to tackle the disgusting mess of a crib before me. I will spare you the details, let's just say I'm pretty sure she used everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, to wipe her butt. I strip the crib down to the bare mattress and take at least 20 disinfectant wipes to all of the slats and the mattress. I'm not taking any risks here. After about 20 minutes of pure poop hell I now have a large trash bag of linens including one stuffed bunny and one teddy bear which I promptly deliver to the laundry room. I hate this part about Mommy-hood. Just because we grew these little suckers in our bellies and popped them out doesn't mean we should have to be okay with cleaning up their doo. I don't even like to drink after my kids let alone clean up last nights digested macaroni and cheese. Sorry, a bit graphic I know. So I'm en route to the washer which you can only access by going through the kids playroom. Livy is sitting on the couch watching Monsters vs. Aliens for the 300th time this year in her nice clean pjs and doesn't even so much as give me a glance as I carry her toxic load. This is a thankless job, that I know for sure. I put as much as I can fit in the washer on hot and add a little extra detergent for good measure. I should have taken the entire bag and just tossed it, wasn't thinking that far ahead though. My brain was in shambles over this whole ordeal. I leave Liv to her movie and head to the bathroom for a good scrub in the shower. It might seem over dramatic to you, but I was just grossed out. Usually I am good for a solid 10 minutes of showering, teeth brushing and other normal every day hygiene activities before she gets back into trouble or Riley or Natty need something. Well, okay, so they usually want something the moment my big toe hits the shower floor but I can get away with 10 minutes of bliss before I actually have to act on what they need. I just finish rinsing the conditioner out of my hair when I hear Riley come into the bathroom. He rips back the shower curtain with great enthusiasm leaving me standing there under the running water staring at him like he's lost his mind. I try to cover myself... although I'm not entirely sure why. He still doesn't seem to notice nakedness thank goodness. "Mom" he says in a very dramatic filled tone of voice "Livy pooped in the playroom." You know that feeling when your brain feels like a jellyfish has wrapped itself around it and stung the ever-loving piss out of you? No? Okay, maybe it's just me... well, that's what I felt like. My brain was STUNNED. No thought process going on, none. I half fell and stumbled out of the tub, water still running, me still naked. I ran through the living room, through the kitchen and came upon the playroom. Drips of water trailing after me on the floor. There my daughter stood, naked. AGAIN. How? Why? Huh? What? Her pjs in a heap on the floor, her soiled diaper next to them. The couch, which is a cream color, now has brown spots on it. Not only the top of the cushions but the front of it as well. I wish I had gotten her on video tape. Maybe then I could have a full understanding of how this was possible. Not to mention she just pooped twice within the same hour. I don't even get dressed first. I just clean and scrub naked. Shower still running, I break out the spray bottle and attack the couch. Livy is so stunned by the non-sensical made-up words spewing out of my mouth (to replace what I REALLY wanted to scream) that she doesn't even move an inch. She just stares at her angry crazy naked Mommy who is knee-deep in a sea of rags, paper towels and more disinfectant spray. I manage to clean this up a little quicker probably because there are no blankets or pillows involved this time, thank God. I grab new clothes and a diaper for Livy. Wipe her down AGAIN and place a large towel on the couch cushions as she climbs back up. By now I am shivering and my hair has begun to dry. I run back to the shower and jump in to re-scrub all over again. As I'm rinsing myself off I go over the events of the day in my head. Scheming up new ideas on how to prevent this from happening, I think I've finally found the solution. There is only one thing I can think of to prevent my dearest Liv from ever ripping her clothes off and creating this disgusting act: DUCT TAPE. I smile to myself as I envision wrapping a nice long piece around the top of her pants (not too tight, don't worry) so that the little monster can never take her clothes off again. Much less get to her diaper. Hey, if a handyman can fix a leaky pipe with that stuff, I can most certainly fix my pooping child! It's either that or I purchase one of those diving wet suits that zips up the back. Now THAT would be perfect.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

I must feel brave these days...

So I've done it. I've taken a leap and decided that, as my hubby explains, my need to get out of this house has finally exceeded my fear. Yes, yes, I have flown the nest... my 3 little chicks in tow. I made a massive discovery a few weeks back that if I take the 3 inch thick winter cover off of the baby's carseat, all 3 seats will fit in my car. It's a tight fit, sure, but hell... it fits. With this discovery came a new found sense of freedom. I can go anywhere! Well, okay, I certainly can't go at whim for a gallon of milk or a latte. They might all fit in the car, but I never said it was easy getting them in or out. It's a process, as is everything else in my life these days. Don't believe me? Let me tell you a little tale that happened this past Monday.

Over a cup of coffee my dearest Riley asks me "Where are we going today Mom?" as if we go somewhere every day and he wants our itinerary. This whole 'going in one car' thing has so perplexed my brain that it doesn't even occur to me sometimes that we can come and go as we please. "Can we go to the playground? You know, like one I've never been to before?". He always says this about everything. He loves new places, new surprises. The kid is practically jumping out of his skin to get out of here... almost as much as me. I pull up my trusty friend Google on the internet and search for "fenced in playgrounds". If you think for one minute I'm going to pack up these kids and the 300 things they require to get through the day just to go to some playground where there is a 9 out of 10 chance that I will lose at least one of them (and by that I mean LIVY) - you are kidding yourself. Nuh-uh, no way, no how. We go chain-link fence all the way baby. Extra points to those that are at least 6 feet tall so my crazy toddler doesn't try to climb over and escape. Just when I think I've discovered every park within a 50 mile radius of our house, up pops a new one called Candy Cane Park. C'mon, what kid could resist? It boasts new play equipment, ducks, horses and best of all, it's fenced in! "OMG!" I think, "We are SO there." I announce to the kids that we are going to the playground, it's time to get ready. Riley lets out a "Woohoo!" and Olivia, who I forget is catching on to new things pretty much every day says "WEE!" which is her code word for slide. Alright then. Let's get packing! Getting the kids dressed these days would seem a lot simpler with warmer weather upon us. After all, there are no more coats, hats, gloves, scarves and boots to worry about. I don't have to dress them in layers in preparation for peeling a few off if it gets too warm in a store and then putting them all back on again as we walk to the car. And if you are thinking this my friend, you are wrong. Sure, shorts and t-shirts are no big deal. It's figuring out the foot wear and covering of tender skin parts that worries me these days. First, sandals, flip flops and crocs are a huge no-no for the park. There could be wood chips. There could be stones. There might even be mud and I certainly am not going to take the time to clean out everyone's shoes at least 10 times during our visit because of this. Nope. Tennis shoes for sure. I just hope it isn't too warm. Sweaty feet = cranky kids. Really. Next time your kid cries for seemingly no reason at all, take their shoes and socks off. Voila! Happy kids. Oh, and feel their feet. It's disgusting. I hate slimey toes. The next hurdle is of course, sunscreen. Meet the spray, my new best friend. I take Riley and Olivia out onto the front porch. "Stand still and close your eyes for a minute" I tell them. I haven't done this in a bit, need to make sure I cover all areas. They are my children, after all, and the whiteness of our skin is literally blinding. No area must be left un-touched. I spray them down, spraying a nearby bee as well and promptly killing it in the process. I realize I can not spray this stuff on their faces. They'll inhale it faster than I can say "get high!" and so I threaten their lives if they move off the porch and go running at full speed for the face stick in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Before the kids have a chance to even look in another direction I am back and am attacking their little cheeks and noses. I give myself a good all-over spray too and start loading Livy in the car. Riley has to wait since the baby goes in the middle and it's just too hard to lean over him. I have a bit of a hard time getting buckles fastened and there is a lot of pulling seats back and forth and tightening and re-tightening. I also have to position the baby's seat handle and sun shade just right to keep Livy from poking the baby's eyes out. Trust me, she's tried it several times. "Baby's eyezzz" she says in a long drawn out voice as she gingerly shoves her pointer finger into her sister's iris. I run back in, gather up all of the snacks, hats, sunglasses, drinks, diapers and other general kid type things that I know we will need... and think we will need... into several bags. Into the car they go filling every last empty space in the front passenger seat and under the kids feet. The trunk is designated for my 100 pound double stroller which is so large that the wheels have to come off before it can even remotely fit. Once it's in there you might be able to throw in an umbrella or an unused shoe or something, so I don't really count it as storage anymore. Necessities in car? Check. Kids in car? Check. Me in car? Check. Directions to park we've never been to? Nope. UGH! I realize this when I've almost completely pulled out of the driveway. I pull back up to the house. Thank God I did. Amidst the mass chaos I've discovered that I forgot to close the front door. That would have been nice. Calling all neighbors to walk on in, in particular the drug dealer down the street who shoots up drugs in the large pine tree across the street. Yes, really. He does. The police have tried arresting him several times but they "lack evidence". They even wanted someone to take pictures to catch him in the act. The neighbors said this too. They told my husband this. He volunteered me. I, in turn, gave him "the look". "What?" he said in a sheepish voice "you're home all day, just snap a few pictures." Yeah, okay Ryan. In between changing 20 diapers, doing the laundry, cleaning, making lunch, playing cars and/or babies depending on who needs attention more at the moment, breastfeeding our 3 month old every 2 hours AND making an attempt to get a cup of coffee in me before a severe headache overtakes my cranium and I'm deemed useless for the day I'll just go ahead and snap a few. You can call me Bond. James Bond. Let me just pull out our 5 pound camera with the 3 pound telephoto lens and grab a few pics of the guy across the street... who probably can see me through our kitchen window. Maybe he'll try to kill me, who knows. I'll probably make the 5 o'clock news one way or another. No thanks, think I'll pass. Ryan even told this to our hippy neighbor who thought it was just great! Yeah, of course you do. He confided in Ryan after a few minutes of conversation that he "use to dabble in the stuff himself but hasn't touched it in 20 or more years". "Can't you tell?" he asks Ryan, smiling and pointing to his 16 inch pony tail going down his back. And I still can't figure out why Ryan hates neighbors... Anyway, we make our way toward the park. Of course, I pull onto the beltway since this thing is in Chevy Chase and borders D.C. The beltway is just the quickest way and path of least resistance for traffic lights, etc. I come to a dead stop. Looking ahead to one of the alert signs over the highway there is a message flashing. Can't read it from here but judging by the non-moving traffic I know it's not good. It certainly isn't saying "Wow! Traffic is great today - just wanted to wish everyone a very happy Monday!" Ha, yeah right. 20 minutes later I've inched myself close enough to make out what it says: "Accident at B/W Parkway. 3 Left lanes of I-495 CLOSED" Oh Jesus in HEAVEN. I am at exit 20. I need to get to 30. These kids are going to freak. I pray they fall asleep and looking back in my rear view I realize that Olivia already is. Bonus points to me for not giving her a nap before we left. At the time it seemed like a dangerous idea to toy with. Now it far surpasses even sliced bread. I ask Riley, my 'Updater of backseat activities' how the baby is doing. She's asleep he says. I let out a sigh of total relief. I give Riley a brief description of what is going on and tell him to keep an eye out for the accident, it should be coming up somewhere. What? Sure I feel bad for those involved, but I'm trying to entertain my children here people! I say that I wish I could just get off at the next exit but I'm not sure where that would take us. "Don't get off the road," he says, "I want to hang in there and go to the park. Don't give up Mom!". I am amazed that this just came out of his mouth. I smile and tell him I won't give up. I turn up the music to the "Blah Blah Blah" song and he asks me if this is one of my "Gazzercize" songs. By this he means Jazzercise, and yes, Riley, it is. He giggles. He loves it when he's right. Definitely his father's child. We finally make it through the mess of traffic after another 30 minutes of inching. Almost to the park, I see the sign after a few more turns and then we are parking in front of the glorious FENCED IN play area! Yay! I unload the kids and snacks, pile us all into the stroller and push us through the gate. We barely fit. It's a little unnerving that the gate doesn't close and latch. I make a mental note to watch this side of the playground because Olivia is sure to try it out at least once and she'll see this gaping hole for sure. Oh, and did I mention that there is a 10 foot wide fairly fast running stream only steps from the playground? Grrrreat, not only will she escape, but she'd drown soon after. Will have to pay extra attention today. So of course I'm hoping to get the kids fed first but my Mommy brain knows what is coming. They want to run free and try out all of this cool equipment NOW. Riley runs away first, but he can be trusted. Livy is climbing out of her seat before I can even unbuckle her. I release her and off she goes. I dump the stroller at a bench, pull the baby out in record speed and pray no one tries to steal my bag with my wallet, keys and phone as I go running to find out where Liv is. She's following Riley, we're safe for now. I can see, though, across the way, that there are two more gate entrances. Neither one is closed. In fact, they are hanging wide open. I walk the fence perimeter and close them. People look at me like I'm nuts for a moment, carrying around this tiny newborn and closing gates. I'm sure they all completely understood though when they saw a 21 month old and a 4 year old hanging off of me later on. The baby quickly tires out my already aching arms and so I strap her into the carrier. It's getting more use outdoors these days. To this I add our 8 pound camera. Yes, I brought the telephoto lens... no plans of snapping drug user photos this time though. I take some pics of the kids, adorable ones actually, and simultaneously play games with them all while Natalie hangs off of my chest. She's loving the movement. I just have to be careful to not let her get too much sun. It's blaring by now and must be at least 85 degrees or more. Riley runs off to the swings. Livy, on the other hand, after going back and forth on this bridge type thing at least 40 times, is now convinced it's the most terrifying thing in the world. She immediately sits. She cries. She screams. I try to hold her hand through the bars. You see, I'm well below where she stands and have to reach up to touch her. This scares her even more to see that I'm firmly planted on the ground and she's not. How in the world can this child go from being fearless 5 minutes ago to now being petrified of a 4 foot long platform that is completely flat and barred in on both sides and doesn't even move?? Nothing I do pleases her. Not even having her big brother come all the way back over to where we are to help her down. Nope, I must drag the baby and the camera swinging off my back up the steps, across the bridge that does move, up to more platforms of steps and over several children to get her. She wants picked up. Ain't happening. I'm already carrying enough. Picking her up would just squish the baby and possibly damage the camera. I take her hand. She screams. Everyone is looking at me. They all look like they feel bad for me, but no one is feeling sorry enough to help out. I have to drag her down. Several very long minutes later we are on the ground again and I tell her it's time for "nummies" which is lunchtime in toddler world. It's all about distraction these days. She smiles, jumps for joy and goes running toward the stroller. Wow, wish I could bounce back from trauma like that! I yell for Riley and they both crawl up onto the bench for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with goldfish crackers and juice. By now it's so dang hot that the baby is causing sweat to run down my chest onto my stomach, drenching my shirt and capris. The kids are so sweaty that I can run my hands through their hair and it stands completely on end. Gross. Riley even says he wants to go find some shade and feed the ducks that we read about. He looks really hot. Livy climbs in the stroller after a solid 3 minutes of coaxing and pulling on my part. I put the baby in the back seat and soon enough we are heading toward a small stream and bridge. We brought a bag of bread for the ducks too, there better be some. That's all I have to say. We search and search and search. Not a damn duck anywhere. I'm sweating even harder now because I'm pushing the stroller down a dirt path to nowhere. Livy is screaming, she wants out. If I did this she would most likely run full speed and leap head first off the bridge within 10 seconds of freedom. Not a good idea. I turn back around, much to Riley's dismay, and we go back to the car. He's pissed and decides to sulk by dragging a 7 foot long dead branch back toward the parking lot, dragging it over and killing every beautiful spring flower he can find. Destruction. Makes you feel better I suppose. We've only been here about an hour. It took us longer than that just to get to this place thanks to the accident on the beltway. Oh well, I see my teeny tiny car up ahead I can't wait to get in and crank up the a/c. I manage to load all stroller contents and two out of three kids back into their seats. Split the last of my water into two sippy cups for my thirsty kiddos and take a moment to feed the baby in the front. I'm not taking any chances of a screaming hungry baby if the traffic Gods decide to strike again. Sun drenched and energy zapped, the entire backseat of my car is sound asleep before I even reach the highway. I turn up some tunes and enjoy some peace, singing along and be-bopping my head just a tad. I even look over and do a quick head nod of acknowledgment to the old woman in the vehicle next to me as we wait for the light. Look at that, a fellow driver. I'm pretty dang happy at the moment and sing louder. It's a good song and I haven't listened to "my" music in what seems like years. Hey, this car ride thing isn't so bad after all. Quiet moments like this are worth every single solitary second of hell it takes to load up. Hell, I'm already thinking about where we'll go tomorrow! Look out world cuz here we come!