My youngest son has been suffering through a few bouts of Explosive D lately.
My husband and I both have to get up early in the morning for work, so the one who gets up with the kids, fixes them breakfast, changes the youngest’s diapers, and does all of the other morning rituals with them is simply up in the air. Some days it’s the hubs, some days it’s me.
Last Saturday, though, my mother’s intuition must have really been kicking in, because as soon as I heard that first pitter-patter of feet on the hallway floor, I was up. I hopped out of bed, fixed pancakes (and by “fixed,” I mean I took them out of the freezer and microwaved them), changed the toddler’s diaper and clothes, and helped the preschooler get dressed, all before the hubs had lifted his weary head off of his pillow.
When I changed the toddler, I noticed he had pooped, but it wasn’t anything awful. Just a solid turd that could be cleaned up in one fell swoop. (I swear this is pertinent.)
However, the first thing the hubs did when he strolled into the living room was crinkle up his nose. “What the hell is that smell?” he asked. He looked down at our toddler. “Did you poop, Buddy?”
“YEAH!” our little guy answered, already up and running because, like most toddlers, he apparently prefers the squish of the poop between his buttcheeks over suffering the indignity of getting his diaper changed.
My husband looked my way.
“Did he poop again?” I asked, squinting at my computer to pretend like I was working, even though we could both see that I had Facebook pulled up. “Well, I just changed him.”
The hubs knows what that response is code for: Knock yourself out, asshole, because it’s your turn.
And, to his credit, I didn’t even have to pull the “Um, excuse me, Mother’s Day IS next week,” card. (How the hell do I still keep getting away with that, by the way? I’ve somehow managed to batter him down emotionally so much about it that Mother’s Day has been extended to a full week. Score!) He knew it was his turn, and he got to work.
What came next was one of the funniest things in the whole entire world, mainly because I got to sit at my computer and witness it. As the hubs set the toddler down to change him and began wailing (the hubs began wailing, in case you were confused), I had to grab my little Harriet the Spy blogging notebook and record what was being said.
Because the Explosive D had returned, and it wasn’t pretty.
Here, I’d like to present to you just a few of the reactions the hubs had. Now, try not to judge as you see a few curse words peppered here and there. We do not curse in front of our children except for on special occasions, and I think you’ll agree that this occasion was special enough, and it was warranted:
1. “It’s leaking out. Dammit, it’s that kind of poop. It’s leaking out!”
Here, he swept his eyes in a frenzied look all around the house, but he gave up when he realized that the preschooler was too busy with an Umizoomi episode and I was too busy with my Harriet the Spy blogging notebook to offer him any sympathy.
2. “It’s everywhere. Oh, gawd. Holy shit.”
3. Retching noises.
4. “Sweet Mother of God, is that…is it on your neck? How did it get there, Buddy?”
5. “I can’t set him anywhere—shit will get everywhere. I’ll have to change him standing up.”
Me: “You know, they make diapers specifically for kids who are difficult to change. With those, you actually could change him standing up pretty easily.”
Hubs, hope filling his whole being: “Do we have any?”
6. “I don't think I'll ever get this smell out of my nose."
7. Retching noises.
8. “I'm going to be sick."
9. “Did he have a lot of fruit for breakfast?”
10. “Or corn?”
I know damned well that the hubs didn’t find any undigested kernels in the toddler’s pile. He just says things about corn to embarrass me because until I was 27 years old, I thought people were joking when they said you could see corn in your poop the day after you eat it. The hubs thinks it’s HUH-larious to make fun of me about it.
I remember it well: It was the day after I’d gotten a little crazy with some corn cobs at an afternoon barbeque. I’ve never particularly liked corn, but I buttered, salted, and ate the shit out of it that day. And the next day, I had proof.
I walked out of the bathroom, marveling that what I’d heard all my life was true. My husband stared at me, not sure whether to laugh or cry at his choice of a wife, and said, “You seriously did not know that you can see corn in your poop the day after you eat it?”
I looked at him, eyes still wide in awe over my discovery. “I seriously did not!” I said excitedly.
He just shook his head. I thought I saw a tear roll down his cheek, and I can only assume that it was a tear of sadness at the prospect of living out the rest of his days with such a dumbass. “Didn’t you ever eat corn as a kid?”
I thought about it for a moment. “No. Dad didn’t like vegetables, so he never bought any—unless you count the ones that were included in Banquet frozen chicken dinners, and I always threw the vegetables out of those, anyway. He just hoped we got them at friends’ houses during sleepovers.”
And I know that there are people out there who don’t consider corn a vegetable, and those people can suck a (corn)nut. I was at a mother’s group one day where one of the overachieving snatch moms helpfully pointed out that corn was, in fact, not considered a veggie in her household, and half of the moms at the table flipped her off while the other half covered their children’s ears at such blasphemy. Because dammit, corn’s the easiest one to get our kids to eat!
Holy SHIT, why the hell do you people let me go on like that? What the hell was the point of #10?
11. “It smells like a man shit. Can you smell it over there?”
12. “Seriously, dude. It smells like a man shit.” Turning to me. “Or one of yours.”
Me: “That’s because I used to be a man.”
The hubs, hesitatingly: “You were not.”
Me: “Doesn’t matter, anyway. Marriage vows.”
Let me explain this exchange: Once, when I told him to suck my balls, the hubs responded very quickly with “You don’t have any balls.”
It made me angry because it was such a quick-witted and accurate response, one that totally negated the bite of “Suck my balls.”
So I responded, “Not anymore.”
Ever since then, he’s wondered. It’s the one time I thank the Good Lord in Heaven for the sweet blessings of whiskers and a man voice that He poured on me from above.
13. “What color would you say that is?”
14. “He’s gonna need a bath.”
15. Retching noises.
A very Happy Mother’s Day to my mom, grams, mother-in-law, and to all of you mothers out there—AND to all you wonderful husbands (like my sweet hubs) and single dads (like my awesome dad was for several years) who are knocking this parenting stuff out of the ballpark! We got this…
And I know this is a little bit serious and totally out of place for this asshole blog, but I have to give a shout-out to any women who want so desperately to have a baby and to be a mother—I understand. I was there for 3 very long years. Trust me when I say that it can happen; with the many different ways to become a mother, there’s a hugely, humongously high possibility that it will happen; and it will be wonderful, shitty diapers and all. Much love to you on a day that can be hard.