Sometimes Jimmy and I feel like our life is just one big poop disaster after another. Now I can't decide where to go from here. Do you want details? You might never come over again when you discover most surfaces in our house have probably had poop on them. Yet there must be some elaboration on my poop declaration. Sometimes it is hard for me not to see my diapered children (yes, Libby still can't figure it out) as ticking time bombs who may or may not hit their target. Jimmy and I keep telling each other that it's just the season we're in. That in three to four years, we could be totally done with diapers. Sometimes I'm not so sure. Will my kids be through with diapers before it's time for me to start buying them for Jimmy or myself?
And really, when I think about it, poop isn't really a disaster, right? I mean I should be thankful my children have healthy bowels and all that, right? But still...
When you sneak into your baby's room, so as not to wake your son, plant him on your hip, and feel the poop ooze through your pajamas, it feels like a disaster.
When your daughter calls out from her bed at night "I have poo-poo" and you discover it's all over her and her bed, it feels like a disaster.
When you say to your loving spouse, "I smell a dirty diaper" only to turn around and see a pile of poop on the floor, it feels like a disaster.
When your daughter takes off her diaper and attempts to dump her dump in the toilet, then proceeds to walk around with poop all over her bottom and her hands way to close to her rear end, it feels like a disaster.
When I realize that all of these events happened in a week, it really feels like my life is just one big poop disaster after another.