Tonight after a ridiculously messy dinner, I ran upstairs to pour a bath for both babes. Bath time could not wait until just before bed tonight. It had to be now… before they touched anything. At 22 months old, Miss M absolutely loves exploring with food. She throws it, she squishes it in her fingers, she smushes it flat, she rubs it in her hair, she pokes it with a fork and scoops it with a spoon. She giggles, squeals and applauds herself at every meal. Needless to say, it gets messy. Mr C is now 11 months old and has been eating like a little pig lately. Since he was born, people have commented “Just wait until he’s in high school. Boys will eat you out of house and home!” Well he is not even 1 year old and is already doing that. This afternoon he was really fussy and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I tried offering him a bottle, we cuddled, we played, but nothing seemed to soothe him. I finally realized that he was hungry. And not hungry for a bottle of formula, hungry for food! He had just had a snack but happily sat in the high chair and devoured some cut up melon and goldfish crackers while I started making dinner. After about 8 goldfish crackers and a few pieces of melon, he managed to eat a bowl of gnocchi, a few slices of cheddar cheese, half of a chicken breast and about 20 peas. He refused an arrowroot cookie at the end but still seemed hungry. I opened the fridge and pulled out a bowl of leftover spaghetti from last night and offered it to him cold. He gobbled that down too! I don’t know where he puts it but that little boy can eat! He has been crawling for at least 2 months now and is now extremely quick at it. He is also pulling himself up on his feet and playing really hard. So, I suppose his energy has to come from somewhere! He knows how to fuel up!
I stripped both babies clothes off in the kitchen at an attempt to contain the mess. (I now keep a laundry hamper in my kitchen and am seriously thinking about putting a basketball net over it just to make flinging dirty bibs more fun! My husband calls it “tacky.” I call it “survival.”) As I pulled Mr. C’s shirt off, Miss M loudly pointed at his chest and yelled “Boobies!” She has a new, or at least rediscovered interest with boobies. She knows what they are because of watching me breast feed her baby brother at least a million times. During that time she was new to the phase of pointing to body parts to hear you say their names. So it would be “nose…eyes…hair…knee…toes…ears…boobie.” I couldn’t figure out why she is suddenly fascinated with boobies all over again until I realized that we have started using the word “poopy” to get to learn what poop and pee are and I think it reminded her of the word “boobie” and rekindled her interest. She wants to see everyone’s boobies. She throws a fit from time to time trying to pull my shirt up yelling “Boobies!” Last week, when her dad came downstairs without a shirt on after having a shower she ran over to him throwing her arms up for him to pick her up. When he did, she happily pointed to his chest and exclaimed “Boobies!” It’s her new thing. So yes, her shirtless baby brother also warranted the exclamation of “Boobies!”
Once they were both stripped down to their diapers, I asked them if they wanted to have a bath and they both got excited. Miss M happily chanted “Baa! Baa!” which means “bath” and made her way up the stairs as I followed carrying Mr. C who mimicked her saying “Baa!” then smiling proudly. They splashed around in the tub, stealing the wash cloth and rinse jug from each other since all of the bath toys were on a temporary leave of absence. We had an incident last night. Hubby was home to bath the babes with me and in a split-second, bathtime went from “Aww Look how cute they are! Look how much fun they are having!” to me cocking my head to the side trying to figure out what I was seeing under the suds and then shouting to Hubby who was sitting on Mr. C’s side of the tub “Get him out! Get him OUT!” Miss M had pooped. And not just pooped. Pooped as in “I ate a few too many grapes this afternoon” poop. Yuck. Hubby ran out of the washroom with Mr. C. I closed the door to trap Miss M in the bathroom and then scooped her out and asked her to try sitting on the potty while I tried to clean up the mess. We are not toilet training. We are pre-season for anything like that. We are just familiarizing ourselves with the potty and the concept of poop and pee. She wasn’t finished. If she actually sat still on the potty, she would have christened it with its first bowel movement. But she was squirmy and slippery from being wet out of the tub. And it was soft and runny and smeared and trickled everywhere. She got up and ran around with it on her feet, trying to bust out of the bathroom. Luckily I keep a Costco-sized container of Lysol wipes in most rooms in the house so I was able to quickly wipe up the messes to prevent any further travel and then cleaned her up with a wash cloth. I kept her contained in the bathroom while I drained the tub and scooped the remnants of her explosion out of the tub and into the toilet. Then I stacked all of the toys into the rinse jug that was in the tub with them and left them on the bathroom floor to deal with after she was clean. It was a gross experience, yes. But not the first (or 20th) time this has happened and it certainly won’t be the last.
Needless to say, the bath toys had not yet reached a level of “clean” to warrant their return to the tub. The first time a bathtime poop explosion happened, I threw out all of the toys. Now, I realize that it’s just poop. It’s amazing how you become desensitized after a while. But… the toys did get handwashed, wiped down with Lysol and now will skip tonight’s bath to hang out in the dishwasher on the “sanitize” cycle. So they would have to be entertained by a substitute rinse jug and wash cloth.
After I finished scrubbing the orange from tomato sauce off of both babies skin and brushing their teeth (I do it in the tub so they can’t escape!), I scooped Miss M out first since she can walk and covered her in a towel. She happily took off running out of the bathroom. I turned to grab Mr. C’s towel only to realize Miss M had scooped it and taken it with her when she left. I looked around the bathroom. No other towels. I called for her to bring it back but she was busy playing in her room. It wasn’t going to happen. I figured it would only take a second and quickly ran to the nursery to grab another towel. As I reached into the basket of baby towels under the change table, I heard the bathroom door slam shut. She had run back into the bathroom and shut the door behind her…with Mr. C still sitting in a draining bathtub. I immediately thought “Don’t lock the door!” and opened it before she had a chance. This entire episode was under 5 seconds long from my leaving to my return but was still traumatic. Two babies, 1 in the bath tub and a closed bathroom door. I shudder just thinking about the “What ifs.”
I scooped Mr. C up and wrapped him in a towel. Miss M was happily pulling every toy out of the toy box in her room across the hall and running back and forth between Mr. C’s room and her own. As I started snapping up Mr. C’s sleeper while he squealed and tried to flip over onto his tummy to escape, I heard grunting from behind me. Miss M has been really congested lately. She is just getting over a respiratory virus. I continued to try to hold Mr. C down in order to dress him. (I wish he would understand that if he just laid still, it would take half the time and he would be free but he insists on kicking, punching, flailing and flipping onto his tummy like a fish out water at every diaper change and every time I dress him.) His sleeper was almost completely snapped up when I smelled it…
I turned around to see Miss M, lips puckered, eyes watering, completely naked, knees bent, pooping on the floor next to Mr. C’s crib. This is not her first offense (or even her tenth). It is always the same spot too. She squeezes in between his crib and book shelf and poops right there on the floor. When I turned and looked at her she said “Poopie! Yay!” While it was really gross, I was pretty proud of her for recognizing what she had just done. We’ve been working on that. She’s not ready for toilet training but a couple months ago, I decided she never would be if she was unfamiliar with pee, poop or a potty. So every diaper change we talk about how she went pee or went poo, etc. and we have the potty set up in the bathroom for her to practice sitting on throughout the day.
Mr. C was still half-snapped but I put him down on the floor to quickly pick up Miss M’s poop off the floor with a baby wipe, using another wipe to clean up any residue. I told her to come in the bathroom and sit on the potty in case she wasn’t finished. I was hoping she still had to go so she could make the poop-potty connection. She sat on the potty and clapped, cheering “Yay!” the way I do when she sits on it to try to encourage her to give it a try. There was no more poop. She got up and started taking the potty apart. I couldn’t stop her since my hands were full of poop so I threw the poop in the toilet, flushed and quickly washed my hands. Then I held her hand and walked her back into Mr. C’s room to properly wipe her bum. She tried to slide under his crib to hide while I grabbed the wipes. Mr. C. crawled off into the hallway as I cleaned her up and diapered her before anything else could happen. Then I heard the change in sound on the floor of Mr. C’s crawl. (Mom instincts are an incredible thing.) Crap! He’s in the bathroom! I had left the bathroom door open when I had walked Miss M out. I ran into the hallway. He heard me and started speed-crawling towards the toilet and bathtub. Gross! I scooped him up and as I did, I noticed that the toilet water seemed exceptionally high and the water was still running post-flush. I walked out and wiped Mr. C’s hands off (who knows what sort of poo particles and germs he just collected. Bathrooms gross me out no matter how clean they are!) then went back in to hear a “glug” which was the sound of my heart sinking into my stomach as I realized I had flushed the baby wipes down the toilet while quickly ditching the poop. The toilet is clogged. May Day! I scanned the bathroom for a plunger with a half-dressed Mr. C ( he crawled out of his half-snapped sleeper) tucked under my arm like a football squealing because he wanted to play in the toilet At the same time, I used my leg and hip to block Miss M from trying to push past me towards the toilet. What is it with kids and toilets? Found it! Phewwf.
Our upstairs bathroom is over 60 years old. While we haven’t had to use it in a while, I like to keep the plunger in the bathroom for easy access and so we don’t have to try to find it in the basement in times of emergency. I put Mr. C down outside the bathroom door and closed it with him and Miss M on the other side. They both went ballistic, of course, screaming and pounding on the door while I started plunging the toilet hoping it would unclog (half because an overflowing toilet is no fun and the other half because I just scrubbed that floor last night after the poop-in-the-tub incident. What a waste of valuable floor scrubbing that would be! I was actually happy that they were both pounding on the door so I knew where they were and what they were doing while I worked on the toilet and kept them out of the line of fire. I pumped away on that plunger like I was performing CPR. I didn’t stop even with the babies managed to force the door open and invade the bathroom. Finally it dislodged and I was able to pull the wad of gross wipes out and the toilet drained. I threw the wad of icky, poopy wipes in the garbage can and breathed a quick sigh of relief before turning to find Miss M and Mr. C on the floor with an disassembled potty and a pile of stuffed animals they had brought into the bathroom with them. Gross.
I picked up the stuffed animals with my already dirty hands and threw them down the stairs to wash. I washed my hands and arms up to my elbows then picked up a baby under each arm and carried them out of the bathroom.
I hopped over the baby gate and ran down the stairs to get Miss M a cup of milk and Mr C a bottle. As I turned the kettle on, I heard Mr. C screaming frantically. I ran back figuring Miss M had attacked him somehow, only to find him at the baby gate upset because I was out of sight. Holy separation anxiety, little man!
Bedtime can’t come soon enough tonight. And when it does come, this mama has earned a margarita. (Translation: chamomile tea because I don’t have the ingredients or the energy to make a margarita!)
andbabymakes3imean4 is one mom’s adventures while tap dancing on the brink of insanity with 2 babies, 11 months apart. If you liked this post, please enter your email address and click “Follow My Blog!” to be the first to know of future posts. You can also like my page on facebook! Thanks for reading! xo