Yep, it was one of those nights. By the end, it was one of those nights I kind of wished I weren’t with child. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been a bit under the weather this week, and due to my “delicate condition,” I can’t medicate myself as I see fit. I dragged in from work with Stella, unloaded the bags – diaper bag, laptop, purse, lunch bag, etc… – and started cooking her dinner: mmmmm-pizza. I needed the path of least resistance, something I knew she’d eat.
All was going according to plan. She was in a good mood and ate her food, kind of. By that I mean she scraped every bit of topping and sauce off of the tortilla I had used as the crust utilizing her front teeth. That was ok. It was bath night, so I’d get the sauce out of her nostrils, ears, and hair no problem. Bath went well at first. Hair and body washed, played with the Yo Gabba Gabba toys, sang about the Party in My Tummy. That’s when things went downhill.
I pulled the plug on the water and waited for the draining so I could extract her. She got quiet and I heard a bit of grunting. You got it. She pooped in the tub. I don’t know if it was bad or good that the water was gone. Probably good, as at least I could scoop up the solid bits and dispose of them. Then, other than her hair and face, we had to repeat the bath and decon the tub. I texted her father, letting him know what he was missing while he was still safely at work. He responded: “Use the other tub.” I have declined asking him if the shoe had been on the other foot (or the turd had been on the other parent) if he would have just left the tub with its contents intact. I just don’t wanna know. Regardless, I do feel like I missed a teachable moment as far as what is poop, the mechanics of the poop, and the whys of poop belonging in a commode. Pre-potty training, you know.
Things got wilder after that, if not more sanitary. My darling daughter tried to climb the components on the entertainment center, and I don’t know what all that alarming beeping meant that the Playstation was emitting for a while. We had a power struggle over her water cup, as she would ask for it, take a swig, and as soon as I turned my attention away would spit the mouthful out somewhere, usually on the couch. I didn’t have “red ass,” I had wet ass. When I tried to take the cup away from her, she would start to run in circles while I chased her around the now-waterlogged couch. While I chased her she would mimic me saying “no, no, I see you,” which is what I say a lot when I’m trying to fake her out that I’m watching her every move while I cook, do dishes, or whatever.
It was so nutty for a while that I Facebooked her nanny and asked how much crack rock she had enjoyed for afternoon snack. If I could have, I’d have visited the Island of Dr. Merlot last night in order to put the soggy couch and turdy tub out of my mind. This is also a prime example of why I’ve been dragging my sick butt to the office the past couple of days rather than staying home “resting” with my toddler.