This morning I work up to giggling. Normally this would have been cute, but the sounds were accompanied by a smell that -if I was to describe it- would be what they were referring to in 'Labyrinth' when they spoke of the Bog of Eternal Stench. It hit me why Nicholas was giggling- he knew what I was up against.
Upon undressing him, I saw what looked like a sewage treatment plant that had exploded. If I hadn't been afraid of the backlash (him peeing all over my bed), I would have just left him there and turned tail and headed for the hills. So, I continued on, praying he had been completely finished when I had taken off his diaper. He wasn't. Time to wash the sheets. Again. Nothing new- we had the cleanest sheets of anyone I know when Nicholas was first born- every day he pooped on them. Every day I had to wash them. Apparently, sheets were not enough for Nicholas to “mark”- he decided to let loose on me, too.
Unfortunately, this is not the first time I've been scarred by my kids. When my oldest was born, he initiated me into motherhood by peeing a stream straight over his head, hitting the hospital wall behind him- talk about aim. He also initiated his gramma into the Grammahood by peeing all over her. Of course, in his defense, she made the conscious choice to hold him while he was diaper free. No diaper+cool breezes+boys= a change of clothes for you. At least his accidents were all of the pee variety, though.
If I REALLY wanted to bring up “crappy” memories, Jacob would be the one to take home the gold. Some parents call their kids “monkeys” as a term of endearment- me? I'm just stating the facts. Monkeys swing from trees- my sweet boy swings from furniture. Monkeys love bananas- Jacob loves bananas. Monkeys throw poop- Jacob pitched a few handfuls, as well. I'll never forget the morning I peeked in on my sweet boy to find out that -sweet, though he may be- sweet smelling, he was not. Somehow, he had figured out how to unbutton his onesie, pull off his diaper, and proceeded to make wall art with the contents. A few days later, when we had gotten over the shock, we forgot to put pants on over his onesie AGAIN, and he did a “Take 2”. Get it? As in Number 2?
I spend FAR too much time around my boys.
My FAVORITE memory, though, was right before Nicholas was born. Jacob came running out of the bathroom and went up to my husband, “Dad! I really had to go to the bathroom, but nothing came out so I went *GRRRRARGH* and it came out!”
Corey, looking at Jacob, “Well... that's great Jacob!”
You'd think that's the end, but no.
“It was HUGE, dad- come look!”
Not only did he inform Corey of his accomplishment, but he saved it to show it off.
What's worse? Since I didn't experience this first hand, Corey saw fit to repeat this entire incident -complete with sound effects- to ME later on. Thankfully, he didn't have Jacob save his *ahem* accomplishment.
Needless to say, not long after this, I started praying the baby I was carrying was a girl. God either thought I could handle a lifetime of poop stories or he was laughing so hard, watching me deal with 2 boys already, that his finger slipped and the 'XX' became another 'XY'.