I Know You're All Out There Thinking, 'Can She Please Write Another Post About Poo?'

This morning SOB had to participate in a conference where pig hearts were dissected, leaving Allison and I alone with the kiddies. Sad to say, she's come down with Sam's bum disease. I wasn't in top form because I was up most of the night with little Lucy.

(Seriously, why is it that the girl will sleep for a three or four hour stretch during the day, but barely goes more than two hours in a row once the sun has gone down? Killing. Me.)

Anyhoodle, Allison wanted to get some ginger ale, so she packed Sam up and walked over to the supermarket. I was nursing little lady while they were gone, and she got all squirmy in my arms. All of a sudden, I heard the very distinguished sound of a newborn taking a big old dump. If you've ever been around one, you know what I mean. Not even two seconds later, I felt a warm, wet sensation on my arm. Yep, diaper blow out. I stripped her down and bathed her in the sink, washed ANOTHER load of laundry, and resumed life as usual.

Sam and Allison came home, and Sam seemed ready for his nap. Since Lucy was all passed out over the stress of being dunked in the drink, I took Sam up. I changed his diaper, sung him a song and out him to bed. Lately, I've been skipping putting his shorts back on after the diaper change and letting him nap in just his shirt.

You see where this is going, don't you?

After about ten minutes of crying I decided to go and investigate. Guess what I found? A hundred brown foot prints, and two huge pieces of crap. Huge as in could have come from a 350 pound man. Sam was bawling his head off, and I think it was because he may have, either on purpose or by accident, gotten some of the poop into his mouth. There were some brown streaks on his face and hands. I wasn't there for an immaculate interception this time.

Oh and he had also managed to sprinkle tons of pee all over his bed and all of the boxes of toys that were within firing range, so to speak.

I won't even go into the whole cleaning process except to say that no less than 14 showers were involved. As soon as SOB got home, I ran out the door and went to the nail salon. I needed to go somewhere and do something that came with a 100% guarantee of no poop. At all whatsoever!

In other, non-poop related news, I have deja vu.

SamLucy

Freaky, huh?