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.

uhm...

Wow. So. I have meant to write something-anything for a WEEK now... Seriously, half written blogs are making my brain overflow. But I just can't seem to find the next note in my song. I feel like I'm in this stupid, stupid place. I'm holding my breath, waiting to see what's about to happen next. So many questions that I'm hoping have easy answers that don't involve me having to fight for my life slash future children. But I don't want my life to pause on the "I might have cancer" note because, hell, if I refuse to let OTHER stupid shit define me (deployment, drama, etc. etc.), no matter how life altering... Why would I let the POSSIBILITY of something define me? I mean, if we're gonna go that route, I might as well just live in fear of a piano falling on top of my head and squishing me like a bug (what movie was that from? Final Destination or something? My movie trivia is not up to par). If I'm gonna let possibility cripple me, instead of living in hope and continuing to smile, that just kinda sets me up for a bad deal if I DO end up being sick. Hello. Mind over matter anyone?

So now that I've got that out of the way... I just want to marvel at the fact that in less than a month, my husband and I mark the two-but-really-feels-like-five year anniversary of our being together. Our first date was September 1, 2007. *Jaw dropping math moment in 3... 2... 1...* And on November 21, we celebrate our second wedding anniversary*. To say, "We've come a long way," is a huge understatement. We've been through a-freaking-lot. AND, may I add, made one stinking perfect son. I'll save the sappy posts for the actual anniversary days, but I just realized it's only been two years!


*We DID know each other for 6 or 7 months before we were actually an item. And we waited almost a week before we quit denying that we were... ahem... involved. Once your 13 year old sister calls you on your shit, you pretty much know you're busted. But that's another story for another day (and would involve my adding one of those "I consent to view adult content" buttons before you go to my page).