Plop on the Pergo

My three-year-old came downstairs dressed like Adam, without a fig leaf, and announces "I pooped on the floor." This is not a new occurrence in my illustrious career, So I grab the wipes and head upstairs to assess the damage.

"I peed on the stairs." That was obvious, so a towel is put down and pressure applied, then I continue upstairs. Wood floors are the perfect surface for random toileting acts. It could have been much worse. I scoop up the two little poop logs and my daughter helps by using a towel to get the liquid. The baby plays close by and is gracious not to get in the way. It was easy.

At least five minutes later...J.B.comes down again with his little brother close behind him. "The baby ate my poop," he says. Yeah, right! Then I smell the baby's hand and notice some brown stuff on his face. We had pizza for dinner with red sauce. I immediately send my oldest son and his friend upstairs to look for anything that I might have missed and they find nothing.

Mimi comes down and I told her that J.B. says the baby ate his poop. She says "Oh yeah, he did Mom. He picked it up and put it in his mouth and it made him choke. Then he dropped it." I questioned her about why she didn't mention this while I was up doing hazardous waste containment. I hadn't noticed any bite marks or other indicators on my own, so I didn't think to ask. She apparently didn't think it was that big of a deal to report on. I happen to think that when your fourteen month old eats poop that it is a matter of huge importance. What crappy communication, literally.

As for the baby, he seems to have no lasting trauma from this fecal fiasco. He demonstrated his full recovery by splashing in the upstairs toilet. Obviously he ain't afeared of...nothin'.





(Photo source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/gregoryjameswalsh/3052917304/)