Poop

It wasn't called poop when I told what happened to R last night. It was Shit, with a capital S. Poop in diapers is fine by me. The smell is no bother, and a quick wash of the hands will remove any poop crumbs stuck under your nails after a change.
But poop on the floor is a bother. And poop all over the rug drives me over the edge.

So I'm just about to feed G when H yells from the bathroom, "Oh-no, I'm pooping!" He never shares this information unless he's not where he should be. I peek out from the kitchen toward the bathroom, and sure enough, there's a 7 inch dangler from Harrison's bottom to the floor. No matter how potty trained you think your child is, the threat is always there.

10 minutes later (of Gigi screaming for her dinner), it's cleaned up and he's in the bath. I feed G and put her in the bath as well. She has a diaper rash from too many grapes, so after drying her off, I let her crawl around for a few minutes to air out. I go to pour H a bowl of soup, and within 60 seconds, he calls out, "Mommy, Gigi spit out, look." I look. It's most certainly not spit. Spit is much less brown and usually thinner.
Here's a short list of what's covered:

4 square feet of rug
4 toy soldiers
3 toy cowboys
1 shoe box
1 plastic Halloween skeleton glove
1 drum lid
1 drum stick
1 child's broom handle (where are the bristles?)
1 onesie
1 pajama top
1 adorable bottom
2 adorable legs

I call my emergency contact and ask what the hell is taking you so long I don't care that you haven't moved 3 feet in the last half hour get your ass home right now I'm breaking down.

Of course, the moral is NEVER let your child crawl around without a diaper, particularly if she's had too much fruit of any kind except bananas and applesauce. Those are okay because they slow things down.

And, the upside: the rug is now cleaner than it's ever been, thanks to running over it 8 times with the Rug Doctor. I'd been meaning to do that anyway.

Swimsuit

Trying on swimsuits less than a year after having a baby must rank among the most stressful events in a woman's life. Between trying to hide flaw #7, and making sure the baby doesn't swallow one of those boobie-stuffer-thingys, there are moments when sitting in rush hour traffic sounds like a fun place to be.

I earnestly suggested to the salesperson that they should serve a cocktail to anyone daring to go into a dressing room. Or at least each room should have its own support group. And how about dimming the lights a bit? I'd rather have sex on a fully lit operating table than try on a tankini under 2 fluorescent bulbs.

The good news is I did find a one-piece that didn't make me look like the Saggy Baggy Elephant stuffed into Paris Hilton's bikini. Four weeks until I wear this thing out in public. At least where I'm going, they do serve cocktails.

Apron

Last night, in between putting my younger baby and older child to bed, I swept the kitchen floor in my flower-print apron. There is no way to modernize this vision of female domestication. Every time I put the apron on, I feel myself shrink a bit. But if I don't put it on, I cringe with every splash or spray of water that comes my way.

How can I counterbalance this ping to my feminist ego? Read philosophy after the dishes are done? Listen to NPR while scrubbing the range? Promise myself this is only an experiment in practicing my "choices"?

The kitchen is one wax-off from sparkling when I hear my son in the tub say he's ready for me to wash his hair and bottom. Suddenly I remember that I'd rather fulfill that request than ponder existentialism. For now, I am not entirely free, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Good Mother Points

It's a rare mother who doesn't try to be a good one at least some of the time. When it's your primary job, it's impossible not to self-judge. When something happens that tarnishes your record, it's just natural to review the past.

Points for changing poopie diapers within 60 seconds of first scent: 10 points each. Letting your husband sleep in 7 days in a row while you get up at 6am with the kids: 500 points a week. Breastfeeding: 10,000 points a month. Turning your back for 10 seconds to give your baby enough time to pull the cup of coffee off the table: negative 1,000,000 points. Darn. Letting her slip on the coffee because you weren't fast enough cleaning it: just forget it, you're too far behind.

Thankfully, time erases most guilt, but only as good as the cheapest eraser works on number 1 lead. Sometimes it just smudges into a fuzzy cloud, but that's better than a crystal clear memory.