One Gallon of Milk, Two Poop Explosions, Three Dirty Towels...And A Partridge In A Pear TreeBeth Anne Ballance
It was one of THOSE DAYS that we have as toddler mommas where partners cannot come home from work fast enough and the wine will never be strong enough.
It started very innocently – Harrison woke up a little earlier than normal and I only managed one cup of coffee before the phone rang for a house showing. We had already let daycare know we would be visiting for lunch that day, so we were already on a “schedule.”
While I was straightening the couch pillows and wiping down the kitchen table, I heard a SPLASH! and a small “uh-oh. No, Harry!” Sure enough, Harrison had opened the fridge and dumped over an entire gallon of milk across the kitchen floor within 2 seconds. The milk spread like wildfire across the floor while I ran for towels and a mop. I wasn’t fast enough, which meant that it went under the kitchen table and started seeping onto the built-in bookcase.
Did I mention I was still in my nightgown and only half-caffeinated at this point?
It took the last three clean towels to mop up the mess, then a complete wet mopping of the floor with Mrs. Meyers. I tossed the towels and all other bath linens into the washing machine. Then I quickly changed into jeans and a tshirt and set to making the beds, wiping down the bathroom counters, and opening the blinds while Harrison played quietly on the floor with his trucks.
Then I heard “uh-oh. It’s gross!”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Harrison was covered in poop from the waist-down. (Teething is a WITCH WITH A B in our house.) With only ten minutes until we were supposed to leave the house, I tossed Harrison into the tub and scrubbed him clean. Crap! I forgot that all of the towels were being washed since I hadn’t planned on a mid-day bath. A quick glance at the clock told me that they needed another 25 minutes to dry and we would NEVER make it to daycare on time.
So I laughed.
I laughed HARD. I texted Diana and she giggled and I let Harrison continue to play in the bath until his fingers were pruny and the towels were dry.
The old Beth Anne would have totally flipped her lid over the “crisis” of spilled milk and poop. But the BA of these days? Eh, it’s just milk. It’s just poop. & there are far worse things to get excited over than a busted schedule.
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