Nancy Drew and the Case of the Mysterious Turd

The last couple of weeks my kids have been sick, and I have been dee-esperate to get out of the house. So I was thrilled last Wednesday when they were well enough to have a re-scheduled playdate with my friend Bethany and her boys Eban, 3, and Benji, 20 months. (Benji and Sophie are only 13 days apart in age! Aww.)

Bethany was kind enough to make lunch for us and after we got the kids settled in the living room with their food, we finally sat down at the kitchen table to eat. After about thirty seconds of adult conversation, Eban entered the room and said four words no mother ever wants to hear.

“Mommy, smell my hand.”

Bethany and I exchanged a “yikes” look. “Why? What’s it smell like?” she asked warily.

“Poop!” Eban replied. (Poop. Of course poop. What else would it be? I think we both knew he wasn’t going to say “lemons” or “roses”.)

With Beth’s next question, “Why does your hand smell like poop?” our quest to solve The Case of the Mysterious Turd began.

“Baby Sophie throw poop at me!” Eban answered cheerfully. Beth and I both jumped up and ran into the living room. I grabbed Sophie and gave her bum a good sniff. Nothing. I peeked inside her diaper. Also nothing. No clues there! “She’s clean!” I exclaimed. Beth did a similar check of Benji’s diaper, which was also turd-negative. Then we noticed a hard, round, black, thing on the floor. Beth moved in for a closer look. “It’s poop!” was her assessment.

Sophie had by this time began rubbing her face all over my chest so I went ahead and nursed her. After Beth’s turd sighting, I lifted Sophie’s hand to my nose. And screamed.

‘Cause it smelled like POOP!!!!!!!!

“She really did throw the poop!” I gasped, horrified. I put an end to our nursing session and ran her to the bathroom to thoroughly wash her hands.

Then Beth and I began re-enacting the Spanish Inquisition on our older boys.

“Where did Sophie get the poop?”
“Joshua did you poop your pants?”
“Eban did you poop your pants?”
How did Sophie get the poop?”
“Where did the poop come from?”
“WHERE WAS THE POOP?”

After many, many, many “no” and “I don’t know”‘s from both boys, Eban told us that Sophie got the poop from his and Benji’s bedroom. Beth was, of course, mortified. “I swear I don’t just have random poop laying around my house!” she said anxiously.

By this time I was well past being horrified and was just cracking up. None of my playdates ever turn out normal! I was just glad Sophie didn’t friggin’ EAT the Turd of Mysterious Origins!!

So, we still have no idea where the turd came from. One of our kids’ rear-ends? Very probable! But Beth did have friends over the night before who changed their son’s diaper in her boys’ bedroom. So the theory we are most comfortable with is that it fell out of his diaper, unnoticed under the dresser or bed and that Eagle-Eye (or Dog-Nose) Sophie found it (like she finds everythings she shouldn’t have everywhere we go.) Because that’s the theory that makes both Beth and I less culpable in the Great Turd-Throwing Incident of 2008.

But who knows? Nancy Drew and her sleluthy pal Bess we aren’t.

We are way, way, hotter than they are though. And funnier. And our set of novels and subsequent movie are gonna rock so hard, Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie will probably become BFF just to play us! Just wait!!

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It’s official – boys are gross.

I have come to the conclusion that boys are just born gross. All this time I thought it was a learned behavior, but if my son is representative of his gender, I now know they are that way from birth.

Sammy spits up. All. The. Time. Jenny can confirm this, as he ralphed all over her the other day. And it’s not just a little bit… the sheer volume amazes me. If his cheeks weren’t so chubby, I would swear that none of the milk he ingests was being digested. I suppose this could be the reason that he nursed from approximately noon to 10 p.m. yesterday. Ugh.

I don’t know how to put this delicately, so I won’t bother – the kid is a farting machine. Jenny can also attest to this, as she witnessed his would-make-a-14-year-old-boy-jealous farting prowess just today. Some people have to stretch before they can completely wake up, some must drink coffee. Not Sammy. Sammy must fart 9000 times before his eyes will completely open.

And then there’s the peeing. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but jeez! It’s just amazing to me. The other day, we were visiting my grandma and I decided to give Sam a bath in the kitchen sink. Yeah, nothing like pee in the cookie jar. Lovely. Come to think of it, I’m going to need to get a new toothbrush from Jenny’s stockpile, seeing as how the rest of Sam’s baths have taken place in my bathroom sink. Awesome.

As I wrote this, I paused for a moment, concerned that Sam or his friends might someday read this and he would be embarrassed. Then I remembered the moral of the story – boys are gross – and realized that his aptitude for all things relating to bodily functions will probably make him quite proud of himself.

Boys. Ugh.

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A Month of Sammy

Today is Sam’s one month birthday. Forgive me if this post isn’t as eloquent as the occasion calls for, but I am currently nursing him and typing one-handed on a wireless keyboard that’s about out of batteries and requires me to hit each letter 86 times before it shows up on the screen. Maybe I’ll use text message shorthand. Oh wait, I don’t know any.

I can’t believe he’s a month old already. I scares me how quickly time passes. My maternity leave is 1/4 over… a thought that makes me want to cry.

I have absolutely loved this past month with Sammy. I don’t know if it’s because I’m already used to being a mom or if it’s just the way the hormone cookie crumbled, but this initial post-partum time has been much easier for me than it was the first time around, and I’ve enjoyed it so much more. (Kate, someday when you read this blog, know that it wasn’t you, it was me. Really.)

Sammy has taught us a thing or two during the past few weeks, though, I never dreamed pee could actually travel that far. He’s hit the curtains, the wall, and his parents more times than I can count. He is also quite the spitter. Kate spit up a total of about 4 times in her life, so this is new to us. But Sam spits up all the time. So much so that he’s had two baths today. It’s funny how quickly I’ve become accustomed to being covered in spit up. Actually, since Sam still spends at least part of the night on my chest, some mornings I can’t distinguish the spit up from the pee from the breastmilk that’s covering me. Nice, huh?

It’s been fun, too, to see Kate take on the role as big sister. She’s generally been great about the whole thing, but we’ve had to threaten her with time out if she continues to bother her brother while he’s sleeping. Not that I don’t want her to love on him or anything, but for the love of God leave him alone while he is asleep! But really, it is so sweet to see her want to hold him and help us with his diaper changes and baths. I look forward to seeing them become good friends.

Kate’s take on breastfeeding has been pretty amusing. She called me in her room at 3:00 one morning and said “Mommy, how do you actually make milk for the baby?” She has also offered to “help” feed Sammy by “squeezing out the milk.” She’s anxious to give him a bottle, and I’ve tried to explain that that requires me pumping, so she keeps asking me when I’m going to “put on the machine.”

I don’t know if it’s just that I realize how quickly time passes now that I’ve seen Kate grow up so much in four years, or that, to borrow the phrase from Mom-101, this is baby number last, but I have had a strong desire to spend time with Sam holding him, nursing him, or just looking at him in a way that is new to me. It sounds so corny, but every day has been precious. I love him so much.

And as I got all sentimental there for a second, I look down at him adoringly. He looked up at me and proceeded to up chuck all over my lap. It’s a good thing he’s so cute.

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