Today I am participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop. I had the most perfect post ever planned, but I need my muse to help write it and she is still in bed. Seems that she went to bed kind of late last night and found that someone had crushed Fruit Loops all over her sheets. After 30 minutes of brushing them off only to be moving them around, she crashed on the crushed bits. Several hours later we had a huge thunderstorm that scared all three girls into my bed. In all the fidgeting frightened sleep thrashing, somebody peed in my bed. Mixed with Fruit Loops. So if anyone ever asks….yes, someone can pee in your cereal and ruin your day.
The prompt I chose was: 2.) What did they get into now? Describe a time your toddler got into something they shouldn’t have.
It was a dark and stormy night. OK, so it wasn’t but I am still a little traumatized from the pee-soaked Fruit Loops bits. It was probably a average night of average darkness and average temperatures. That’s how we roll around here….totally average. I digress…so on the average night came a not so average sound over the baby monitor. It wasn’t the usual sigh or cough that we are so used to battling whether we actually creep from the warmth of our beds to investigate or dismiss as a usual sound only to get up 5 minutes later because what “if” we were wrong. It was most certainly a “better go check that out” sound.
I opened the door to my oldest daughter’s room. She had recently graduated to a toddler bed…Ok, well that’s a lie. I had just delivered her sister so she had been evicted from her beloved crib just so that it could sit empty in the nursery while I ended up co-sleeping with the baby. But it was there just in case I needed to deposit a newborn in it. Anyways…the door opening…
I had no need to turn the light on because the stench of poop enlightened me to what had occurred. Since I still can’t change a diaper in the dark, I reached for the light switch and my fingers hit something warm, soft and my imagination kicked in filling in the rest. I took another step into the room and something squished between my toes. Then I felt little hands grab my bare legs. The little fingers were warm and squishy too. I began the crazed scream of a banshee for my husband and realized that nobody was coming to my rescue. No white knight on a noble steed. No bald guy dressed all in white with a magic eraser. My husband was out of town on business, so this damsel was on her own.
Most moms will tell you that they have grown accustomed to the smell. It doesn’t bother them. They have iron-clad stomachs and dulled olfactory cavities. I am not that mom. My stomach began churning, my eyes watered and I got that tell-tale taste in my mouth. As I finally got the light on, I wanted to turn around and turn it off. Run from the house screaming in the night. Call 911. Anything but have to clean this up. It was everywhere. She must have copped a squat at least 14 times to produce that much poo. On walls, toys, carpet, bed, bedding, up noses and in the hair. I had a friend in the business of residential cleaning for crime scenes. I knew she was asleep. I called her anyways. I believe she cussed me out, but not before instructing me to remove all evidence and bag it.
Seemed smart to me, so I grabbed a trash bags and picked up all toys and bedding that had fecal splatter and tossed it. We’d go tomorrow and buy new. I picked up my precious poo princess and tried to hold her as far from me as possible on the run to the shower with the removable nozzle.
She touched me.
With poo fingers.
On the mouth.
The dam was breached and I puked all over me, her and the crap crusted carpet. We spent that average night with average darkness and average temperatures curled in the corner of the bathtub. We hosed down like criminals and huddled together as survivors. On morning light, I closed the door to her room and wished I had some of that “Caution” tape to warn my husband. He was due on that white steed any minute and he had some chores to do. We had PTSD to work through.