My new position as “Supervisor of two small monsters, specializing in shit removal” has kept me quite busy. I’ve been alone (during the day) with these two for a week now, so at this point I feel totally deserving of those “oh wow, how do you do it?” looks and comments I get at the mall/grocery store/church/doctor’s office/etc. Before that my wonderful too-good-to-be-true silver tea set sister was here with me for nearly a month. (Points if you get that reference) And she got here the same day that Nate went back to work. He was home for two weeks. And before that, well, I hadn’t been promoted yet. Before that I was just working as “Pregger Mother of One”.
Seriously, it’s been two months since I posted. I’m not even sure I have the time/energy/memory to recap. Suffice it to say we’ve been busy. That whole eat/sleep/shit/repeat routine is brutal.
Speaking of shit. My toddler is some kind of artist, with human fecal matter being her medium of choice. I’m not sure what this says about her future (the internet has plenty to say, of course, but from what I’ve gathered, it’s only autism if the kid engaging in poop play is much older than this little one.), but for the here and now? I alternate between anger, frustration, defeat, and laughter. Her favorite place to play is in her crib. Turns out those three hour naps? Sort of more an hour and a half of nap followed by and hour and half of playing with crap. Literally. Sometimes we are greeted with fresh murals in the morning. She wakes up quietly, that one. If you put her down to bed (nighttime or naptime) in anything less than full leggings with a onesie overtop (it’s her 80’s aerobics instructor look), she’s digging in that dipe the moment it gets filled.
And then occasionally there is the middle-of-the-day play. This is usually less artwork, more “props”. For example, one day she was playing with her play dishes, making a snack and pretending to eat it. I failed to notice at first that she was playing with real raisins. From the day before. That had recently seen the inside of an intestine.
Today’s minor fiasco involved the Fisher Price farm set. I was sitting on the couch, nursing the baby, watching Fiona play so nicely over there with her toys. What a good girl she is. Violet fell asleep, I placed her into her swing, and went over to join Fiona. And then I saw it. Manure. Actual shit in the little cart that hooks to the back of the farmer’s tractor. Carrots and raisins, from the look of it. Creative, this one.
I sternly informed her that no, we do NOT play with poop. And then laughed my head off, internally. Because seriously. What else can you do?
I’m off to google “my toddler plays with poop” to see if anybody else has any worse stories to make me feel better, and “how can I tell if my toddler is ready for potty training” because I’m pretty sure we are heading in that direction very very soon…
This was, of course, after I’d cleaned all things poopy. I’m not that bad of a parent.