Have you noticed that every time a man needs to take a crap he brings some sort of leisurely reading with him? What is with that? For the longest time I actually wondered if there was something wrong with me because when I go I’m in and I’m out – no time for the newspaper.
I think a man’s bowels are built differently than a woman’s, and when men are babies, those bowels are much too powerful for their little bodies to handle. Thomas has been waking up from his naps with record breaking, monkey flinging, death defying diaper blow-outs lately – the kind that require me to strip the kid down IN HIS CRIB, then wrap up the foulness into his sheet to be laundered.
It’s getting so bad that today as I chopped green onions in the kitchen and Bryan went upstairs to get him, I smelled the odor of poop wafting down the stairs to my nose. (Mind you, that poop odor has to make a right, a left, and a hairpin turn on the landing). The other day during his nap Thomas’ poop oozed up his back, and as he played quietly in his crib he stood and backed up against every inch of every side of his crib walls.
THAT was fun to clean.
Thomas also poops in the bathtub two out of three times and I find his huge floaty logs next to the swimming Dora. And when I say huge I’m not exaggerating. Bryan saw the floating poop once and his eyes lit up and he was all, “Nice poop, Thomas! That’s man sized! Gimme some knucks!”
So if you are reading this while drinking your morning coffee, I apologize. I should have warned you.