ugg crossbody bag Poop in the tub and other horrific scenes moms deal with
Kate was taking a bath, playing in the bubbled water while a potpourri of duckies, balls and a random Peanuts character bobbed on the surface. Its my favorite part of the day, adorably frothy giggling baby time, untilcue the “Jaws” music. There was something else bobbing on the surface. Multiple something elses.
I will not tell you how I remedied the situation, for Im certain I did it wrong. Ill only say it included, but was not limited to: a few (227) curse words; a newfound knowledge of the structural integrity of fecal matter and the changes that occur within said matter when mixed with warm and soapy water; a gallon of Lysol; a half gallon of bleach; euthanasia for two ducks, two balls and a Lucy; a roll and a half of paper towels (this was never part of the strength testing that occurs in commercials), second bath for baby and a second shower for mom. A scream; maybe two.
Even though I have a passel of children and have been at this for what feels like my entire glamorous life, there are things I still dont know how to do. I schlep through and find a way to make the poop go bye bye, but I am certain there is a proper way. Where is the manual, the corporate approved procedures, for dealing with these horrific mommy gems? Show me the handbook! For example:
1. Poop in tub:How the frack do you get it out? This comes in at No. 1 because it is fresh (and warm) in my memory. What would June Cleaver do; colander, perhaps? Im confident she could magically take care of this little nastiness without getting a single brown drip on her gingham shirtwaist dress.
2. Chunky vomit on comforter:Burn it? When kid No. 1 spewed all over her pretty pink comforter, I gagged and panicked and immediately shoved the blanket into the washing machine,
dousing it with an overabundance of Tide. In hindsight, I throw a blonde joke at my 22 year old puke washing self; a washing machine isnt equipped with a garbage disposal, duh, so all that happened was the comforter emerged with cleaner chunks of predigested food, and now my washing machine had a matching chunk set that I was lucky enough to be able to scrape out.
3. The dreaded up the back diaper “poosplosion:”Where to even start? I am all world when it comes to diaper changing; seriously time me, bro. That being said, Im still rendered frozen when this phenomenon occurs. Last year, I was at a middle school basketball game, holding the baby while I watched my 7th grade baller. Excuse me, came from the woman behind me. I smiled, expecting her to tell me how cute Kates infant UGG like boots were. I think theres a problem. I followed her gaze to the baby, who had bright yellow schmear raging out of the back of her diaper and onto my pants, the front of my sweater oh, look; theres even a few drips on the bleachers. There was literally no way I could move a single muscle without spreading more of the lemony hued, liquefied baby stew. I grabbed my keys (left my purse), wrapped her in a blanket and ditched the game. Once home, I still faced the how of the issue; how to get the shirt off without yellowing her head, how to remove baby jeans without tie dying those teeny little baby socks, how to keep her hands out of the puree,
etc. So. Much. Gross.