Sunday, May 2, 2010

Epic Poo Failure. Or, Why I Will Never Win Mother of the Year.

Hubby was holding NaNa, and was chuckling over the great amount of cute little grunting that was going on.  Until he moved her onto the sofa cushion so he could go get something to drink.

It was then that he noticed the bright green stain on his arm. And the sofa. 

We go into Manage the Crisis mode.  He gets a towel, lays it on the ottoman. Then picks the baby up by her feet and swings her onto the towel.  While he goes for more wipes, I undo the formerly cute little Winnie onesie, and realize that the lovely multigreen Noxema poo has returned. 

I pull her feet together, lift her little old-man bum up into the air, and as my husband walks into the room, NaNa farts.  It was a Serious Gas Emination.  Like the Gulf of Mexico, but airborne.  Like, "I'm a smelly old fat man who eats too much fish and beans and doesn't bath enough and really loves collard greens and spinach and cheap beer" old man.  And, because no good fart story is truly good without it,  it was loud!  Almost tuba-ish.  How something that big came out of her I will never know.

Now, I am laughing and retching at the same time, while my husband is trying to fan the stench away.  The ceiling fan isn't helping.  But my husband says my retching and laughing is the funniest sound he's ever heard, which makes me laugh and retch harder. 

We are attempting to coordinate efforts.  Because damp, slimyish baby wipes are having no effect on the sludge, I get some paper towels and attempt a wipe.  I'm still laughing and trying not to revisit the hamburger I finished ten minutes ago. 

And then I lose the battle.  In a scene I wish I'd filmed, as Hubby chucks the diaper into the trashcan, I chuck my recently masticated burger.  All the while laughing and trying not to cry. 

I attempt to call Danae in from her bedroom to help Hubby, as I am trying not to add to the mess, but I can't talk. Still laughing and crying and retching.

Now, my voice slightly hoarse, Nana is lying here beside me (lying, because only whores and birds lay), cooing and being 378 kinds of cute. 

Which is a good thing, because Diet Coke and Wendy's do not taste as good the second time around, and I was tempted to add her to the interesting concoction in the trash can. 

And then the realization hits:  Winnie really IS the Poo now.

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If you are an adoptive parent or have one in your family somewhere, talk to me. I could use some insanity that does NOT call me mom!!