For example, before I was a mother, I had never peed or pooped while holding another human being in my lap.
I've never had to lift 20 pounds with one arm.
And I've certainly never had to say, "Please get out from under the recliner."
But this morning was a doozy.
Last night we tried to get C to sleep in his crib so we could have some mommy/daddy time. After screaming for an hour and throwing up twice, C finally realized that we were still in the house and he was still going to sleep in his crib (so we thought). After about two hours of being in his crib, I finally just put him in the bed with us again. I mean he slept for two hours, waking up once each hour, so I gave him some credit and thought a little progress was better than no progress.
But this morning we woke up much earlier than we normally do, and it was because one of us was a little bit poopy. Thankfully, this time, it was not me. I got up to pee and while I was in the bathroom I hear this screaming. So of course I just thought he was mad that I left him in the bed by himself.
Oh no.
It was much worse than that.
I walk out of the bathroom and ask him what in the world was wrong with him, and I see two legs (and eight rolls) flailing in the air. What I didn't see what my son's torso or his face.
Fantastic.
I did what any caring mother would do. I stood there with my hand on my hip and asked my eight-month-old, "What are you doing?"
Apollo, the dog, was lying contently under the covers as well trying to ignore the noise that was interrupting his slumber. He still has not figured out why we won't take the thing back where we got it. He also has been exhibiting suicidal behavior so we have to watch him closely.
After getting my fill of entertainment for the morning, I pulled the covers off of my son's head and got the giant turd out of his diaper.
Needless to say he felt like a new man, ready to suck a tit and watch the Today show.
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