We are down to one breastfeeding session a day, Mary and I, and it’s first thing in the morning.
This is not ideal because mornings are usually always pretty freaking harried. Even though my other kids should be old enough to get dressed on their own and make their way downstairs, I find it’s usually necessary to stand over them with a sharp stick intermittently yelling and crying for them to just, for the love of all that is good and holy, put on your pants. So that’s what I do while Ed goes down to get breakfast and lunches made and then take them to the school bus.
The other day was especially bad. One kid was melting down because someone told him to do something that he was already about to do (the horror) and the other was rocking back and forth in a ball trying to get back to sleep and insisting she would not go to school. By the time I had yanked the last piece of clothing over her sweet, motherloving head and sent her down to breakfast, Mary was SCREAMING.
“My poor, poor baby,” I cooed. “Mommy’s sorry you had to wait. Mommy’s sorry. Let’s go have a snuggle in Mommy’s big bed.”
We lay down together and I settled in to enjoy these last days of breastfeeding. I basked in the peacefully quiet one-on-one time and the simple reassurance of the physical connection.
“Your diaper must be soaking wet,” I said, “Let Mommy take that off for you.”
I reached around and pulled off her heavily wet diaper and tossed it down the bed. Ah. Wait. Is that?? Poo streaks I see on that diaper? But she never poops first thing in the morning. And I don’t smell a thing.
I quickly stuck my finger into the corner of her mouth to break her latch and abruptly interrupt our nursing session. Sure enough, there was a large, well-formed mound of ODOURLESS CRAP sitting on my freshly laundered sheets. You have to know just how infrequently I wash my sheets to fully comprehend how unbelievable this timing was. Lotto ticket purchase inducing.
The baby was not pleased. She started kicking and squirming and complaining very loudly. “JUST. DON’T. MOVE,” I said firmly. I had one hand on her chest and was trying to kick off the covers and sit up at the same time. And of course I had just done ten sets of burpees the night before for the first time in, oh I don’t know, EVER. My abs were screaming as I fought my way into a sitting position. Mary screamed even louder and then managed to step into the mound of odourless crap … with both feet.
I scooped her up and ran her to the tub (getting shit all over my freshly laundered pajama bottoms of course) and proceeded to wash the entire bottom half of her body with soap and water. “There we go, sweetie,” I said as we toweled off after the wash down, “That’s a nice, fresh, clean girl. Isn’t that better?”
And then I stuck her back into her crib and left the room. Yeah, she was pretty pissed.
I scooped up the poo, disposed of it and the dirty diaper, wiped off the excess, ground in crap on the sheet and put on some real pants.
AGAIN, I picked her back up out of her crib and whispered sweet lovelies into her ear. We lay down in the bed (this time on Ed’s side) and settled in for some more mother-daughter bonding. I can’t imagine that she’ll have any trust issues.
It’s a small miracle, though, that I remembered to change the sheet later that day. Let’s focus on that.
