So the other day, while I am making myself some Nutella cookies, Caroline walks into the kitchen. She is stark naked and holds a diaper in her hand. She is repeating, “poopy, mommy, poopy” and “I get in shower with Bella.”
I put down the cookie-scooper and run over to discover that the girl is a genius. Yes, there is poopy in her diaper and yes she had somehow taken it off and carried it to me. I hurry and discard the diaper while simultaneously grabbing a hold of Caroline so she doesn’t sit anywhere or touch anything.
I run to find the place that she removed the dirty diaper from her body but can’t find poop anywhere in the rest of the house, including the hallway in front of the bathroom where the deed was most likely done. The poop is the hard kind, so less worrisome. All I could think about is e-mailing Amy Kafala and telling her that there are perks to not going vegan. Thank goodness we ate too little fiber yesterday.
I stand Caroline up on the changing table and carefully use the baby wipes to remove the remaining poop from her bum.
I tell her she can have a bath after Bella is done and I lay her down to replace the diaper.
I turn on some cartoons to distract her.
I then go back to the kitchen to scrub my arms and hands. From just under the elbows to all the way under my fingernails, I was thorough. The process took a good five minutes and a cup of handsoap.
I then go back to my cookies, which I remind you, are made mostly from Nutella.
Not surprisingly, I just can’t muster the strength to finish plan A. Nutella mixed with flour, sugar, and eggs looks strikingly like that something else to which I had just dedicated 10 minutes of my life.
That is the life of a mother.
Everything can change on a whim.
The sooner mothers lower their expectations for their own needs
and put themselves at the mercy of their children,
the better off it is for everyone.
Two-year-olds are no respecters of persons.
They don’t care if people want to shower alone.
They don’t care if you have been craving those cookies for two weeks.
I then sit down to write this story
and I find the post I titled last week.
I hadn’t written any of the post yet,
but it was going to be about how as a mother I have been exhausted.
My toddler is wearing me out.
What was the title of that post you wonder?
Scrapin’ the bottom of the Nutella jar.
See how things change in an instant?
No matter how desperate I am for a chocolate fix,
I won’t be scrapin the bottom of the Nutella jar again.
And I bet neither will some of you.
Thank you for being a loyal reader and helping me
support my habit of telling awful things that happen to mothers alike everywhere.
What is it with this gross kid?
If you can relate to this story or found it mildly entertaining at my expense,
please feel free to share the story with a friend via e-mail, twitter, or facebook.
The links right below make it so easy.
Just , whatever you do, please don’t show your sympathy
or support by bringing me any chocolate cookies for a while,
and especially not hazlenut.