Yesterday morning began with a sick baby at 2 a.m. Sick as in diarrhea every hour sick.
If you are squeamish or judgmental please turn back now.
By 6 a.m. I'd had it. I was done. D-U-N. Nic took over so I could sleep. Unfortunately, his job doesn't allow for working from home, which meant I was going to be the one dealing with Miss Poopy Pants Grumpy Face all day.
Which was fine. Really.
We ate popsicles. Norah took, like, a hundred baths. She took a long nap. She seemed to be feeling better. I felt all awesome because I can work from home when my baby really needs me, etc., etc.
Fast forward to me talking on the phone with my mom and Norah playing in her room. That's when I discovered that she was leaking out her diaper, leaving three distinct puddles on the carpet.
Poop puddles. Puddles of poop.
And you know what? I can deal with that. Moms have this otherworldly power of being able to conquer any disgusting mess. I would prevail! But do you know what I can't deal with? Looking away for a second then turning around to see my only child bend down, put her finger in the brown goop, then stick her finger in her mouth.
Have you ever had to tell your mom you need to get off the phone because your daughter is eating her own poop?
Here's an adorable picture of Norah eating something that's not poop. Hopefully it helps get the other image out of your mind.
This is where my appeal to the universe comes in. Because would you like to know how my day ended? It ended with Moxie getting sprayed by a skunk.
So, universe, I have one simple request: If you are going to give me a poop-eater, please don't give me a skunk dog. At least not all in the same day.