this post is gross. don't say you weren't warned.

I suppose this officially puts me in the mommy blogger category with both feet... but ohmygosh I just have to tell you by FAR the strangest experience of motherhood for me to date.

So my son got up at 4am, as per usual, he got a bottle and a new diaper and went back to sleep. Around 815, I heard him awake in his bed, but not crying, so I just laid in bed and listened to him coo and entertain himself. After a few minutes, I got up and went to the kitchen to fix his bottle. When I went into his room, I was greeted by my smiling boy sitting up in his crib, butt naked.

Insert dangerous theme music... Beeeecaaaauuuusssseeee... He was COVERED. And I mean COVERED. In his own poop. Yup, I went there. From the crown of his head to the tips of his cute little toes he was smeared with feces like a bacteria-infested Picasso painting. I dropped the bottle, grasped him gingerly by the armpits (he missed a couple spots thankfully) and deposited him into the empty bathtub. I left him there while I ran for the phone-- OH YES I called 911. The conversation, over bathwater and more happy baby sounds, went something like:

Operator: 911, What is your emergency?
Me: Well, er, um, my son seems to have eaten his morning shit.
Operator: I'm sorry, what did you say?
Me: Well, there's a wet diaper in his crib with absolutely no poop in it, and a lovely brown masterpiece on his sheets, and, well, let's just say there is plenty of evidence around his mouth that he has, in fact, ingested most of his home made art supplies.
*Operator chuckles and clears throat*: Well, we can send an ambulance out... But I'd suggest calling your family doctor, as that's all the paramedics will do for you when they get there. If your physician tells you you need it, we can provide a transport for you to the Emergency Room.
Me: Well... Okay, I can call a doctor, but is there anything I can get him clean with? Cause I mean, it's POOP. I mean, I've got some bleach, no wait, that's bad. OH I KNOW, how about baking soda?!
Operator: Ma'am, please refrain from using anything but soap and water on your child. If you feel like you are going to harm him, please tell me now.
Me: What? No I'm not going to hurt him, but I'm definitely never kissing him again. Iwas wondering how to break myself of that pesky toe chewing habit I have... Guess this solves it!

So anyway, I cleaned the boy (ahem, almost drowned him with so much scrubbing and rinsing (ONLY SOAP, and don't ask me what the fuck I was thinking with that baking soda thing, I was straight panicking-- why did I think combat medic would be a good job for me? Motherhood is WORSE!) and the tub, and the floor, and the crib and the sheets and the wall and the floorboards and, well, you get it.

I called his pediatrician, was told to push fluids and to "make an appointment" if he was "vomiting more than 3x an hour for more than three days, having explosive diharrea for more than 5 days, or running a fever over 102.5 for more than two days." I told her my child ATE HIS OWN SHIT, and if any of that popped up for more than 5 minutes I was parking my ass in the middle of the clinic til I got seen.

Anyway, so I'll spare ya'll the details of the lovely swirl patterns he left all over the crib slats, or that I found some nice chunks in weird places in and under his bed-- leading me to believe it was not his usual semi-solid poo, but an actual adult-looking poo. I will, however, share, because if you've made it this far, you SO want to know... That after two days of no solid foods and just fomula/apple juice, he FINALLY pooped.

Doubly-digested feces end up like the equivalent of corn in a diaper. You know. You can totally see the chunks no matter how good you THOUGHT you chewed.

I'm giggling typing this all. I'm off now to think of naughty tags to put on this post.

Has Anyone Seen My Sanity (Or... Is That Another Tooth? DAMN!)

Having just scraped through teeth numbers 5 and 6 this past week, I collapsed into my bed, weeping openly in gratitude that it was OVER and I could get a BREAK at night (and during the day too let's not kid). Well, I should have skipped the time to cry and just slept, cause after 3 blissful days, we're back on the teething train, and I might die.

Now, I know I don't have it as bad as some... He only got the flu-like teething with the first two (let me tell you how that terrified me)-- fever, vomit, diarrhea, all to the point that the doctors almost admitted him into the hospital because he had lost 3 pounds and couldn't hold down even a few MLs of pedialyte for more than 5 minutes at a time. It kinda makes me want to cry just remembering all the time I spent holding my hot-bodied little baby over the sink so he could express the contents of his stomach before he collapsed against my chest, whimpering. But it passed after about 10 days and then we had teeth! Yay! The "vampire fangs" that came next (top teeth, but not the front ones) totally snuck up on me. I didn't even realize they were in until I flipped him upside down one day to get better tummy access to tickle him. So that was no sweat! Then came the front ones... Lots of crying... Two weeks of 5-bottles a night, Tylenol every window of opportunity, teething tablets were purchased in bulk, etc., etc. It was like having a newborn at night, and a WHINY CRYBABY chasing me around the house during the day*. He didn't want to be put down, he didn't want to be held, he didn't want to look at me, but woe to me if I left his sight (anyone making a PMS connection? jeez). This time? Well, all I know is we're back to living on ice cubes and bottles (he won't take solid food to save his life) and we're joined at the f--king hip. He is like an octopus with an attitude problem. AND AND AND. I forgot to tell you the best part (I know, right, like it could get better in this baby-infested bitch fest)... He does this stressed out grunt... As if he was passing a poop the size of Rhode Island... but he's NOT. He's just mad that his mouth hurts. Jeez. Give the kid a shot of Lidocaine and call it a day or something.

My point to all of this, is that my house is in disarray, my legs are hairy (because I can't even shower alone), and I don't even think I've gotten the shampoo out of my hair the last couple showers cause it's lookin a little strange. Now I'm sure some of you are going, well, why don't you just do all that after he goes to bed? Because. I have PTSD from my baby. When he goes to bed, I toss the toys that have been attempting my murder all day into the toy basket and then I flop onto the couch til I can't find anymore junk TV to watch. I don't think I even eat dinner anymore. I look for food... but then my eyes glaze over and I just go back to the couch and enjoy not being smacked by little hands.

In conclusion, teething turns my kid into a soul sucking octopus of a child. Upside? A few extra minutes of snuggling after naps. Downside? You try to clean the bathtub with the Flozell Adams of all babies attached to your hip/leg.

*My son, typically, is not one to freak out. If he's crying, there's a specific, easily fixable reason. Kiss the boo-boo, fill the tummy, or give him his freaking Tigger doll and leave him alone to take a nap!