Piddle Jumping

I’m having one of those spells where it feels as if my primary mom function is that of waste management.  Even  Felix while nursing likes to pause, look at me, smile, scrunch up his face while turning red, and with loud and revolting sounds fill his diaper.  But he’s a newborn.  And he’s a boy.  That kind of thing is to be expected.  As a matter of fact, one of Stella’s favorite new expressions is “That’s Felix’s butt!”  Sometimes it’s also daddy’s butt.  Ah, how I miss the excitement of hearing Stella say things like “duck” or “trapezoid.”

Maybe my angst is because I’ve been home so much, although fortunately that is winding down.  I told Oui Oui the other day that when the temperature equalizes such that the AC isn’t kicking on much that my house smells like pee.  I have no idea where it’s coming from.  I can only assume it’s tiny pee spills everywhere from diaper leaks all over the house.  Oui Oui said she can’t smell it.  I can.  It grosses me out and I have no clue what to do other than continue to wipe down every available surface with Clorox wipes and Febreeze the hell out of stuff.  And wait for the day when I can incinerate my couch, the rug in the living room, and every soft surface in the place.

Anyway, it gets worse.

Stella is mad for puddles.  She’s probably the one person in the coastal U.S. that longs for hurricanes given their puddle potential.  She’s on her second pair of boots already and we’re searching for a 3rd.  You can probably see where this is going.

The expression here is frustration at the sprinkler which is spooking her and preventing her from jumping in puddles.

The expression here is frustration at the sprinkler which is spooking her and preventing her from jumping in puddles.

 

Post Hurricane Isaac last summer.  This is a happy kid.

Post Hurricane Isaac last summer. This is a happy kid.

While battling with potty training the other day, she was naked.  She had been naked for a couple of hours without incident (or making a deposit, damn it).  As it was nearing the time of day for me to start thinking about dinner, I left the room to get her a pair of pull-ups, or practice panties, as we’re calling them.  Seriously.  I was out of the room for not even 8 seconds.  I came back around the corner and a puddle that you could sail an ark in was forming between her toes.

And then she jumped in it.  It was horrible.  Pee splattered everywhere.  Remember back in the 1980’s when everyone freaked out about acid rain?  The ‘80’s had nothing on this.

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About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
This entry was posted in House and home, Parenting and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Piddle Jumping

  1. Amber Perea says:

    The other day I thought, “that’s it, it’s sink or swim time!” and threw the big boy undies on my son. I have hardwood floors…how bad could this be (I am equally failing at potty training obviously)?

    So hours go by of my asking 457 times if he “needed to go pee pee in the potty” that were met with “NO!” every time. Then he crawled onto the ottoman (the only available surface of the house that can’t be taken off and washed or in any way cleaned) and peed on it.

    My husband was furious and all I could say was, “How was I supposed to know he would go THERE?!” 🙂

  2. my27stars says:

    Hahaha! Jumping into piddle puddles! That’s just fantastic!
    Anyway – have you tried jeans on her with nothing underneath? Those things suck when they’re wet, might help her feel uncomfortable when she has an accident to perhaps sway her into trying for more deposits? And maybe keep the rain boots on while there’s no pull-up on – just to help keep all of the wet in, rather than their typical function of keeping the wet out. 😉

    • larva225 says:

      Jeans are a great idea! But it’s already so hot down here that’s just mean. And boots full of pee may just be worse than splashing. Still, I may get desperate enough to try both!

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