First off I would just like to say: I love the word poop. You can not say ‘poop’ before you have kids. If you do, you most certainly will be disowned by all of your friends immediately.
Now that I have shared my love of the word poop, I would like to share how much I hate cleaning it up all the time. I thought my poop cleaning days were on hold (see here), but I guess I was wrong. My 11 year old Chihuahua’s bladder and bowls are the size of a peanut, and my son’s are apparently not much larger. Between the two, there is a lot of poopin’ going on around here.
This morning as I was following my regular ‘mad dash- hot mess’ schedule, my son got undressed and begin his routine of picking out his clothes. By the way he wears a uniform to daycare, however he still has to ‘choose’ between identical shirts and pants. For someone who doesn’t have a lot of patience, this routine elevates my anxiety when I am running late.
I start packing my gym bag so he can continue on with his OCD-ness without interruption. I then see him walking down the carpeted hallway yelling, “Momma, I have to go poo-p….” Before he could finish saying poo, little poop nuggets fell to the floor. Yes, I just said poop nuggets. I will give you a minute to take that in.
I quickly grab him and run in heels to the bathroom. Immediately I hear the dog running to get some of the action. That’s right folks, he grabbed a nugget and ran off. Trying not to vomit, I clean up the remaining mess on the floor in my suit. Meanwhile my son is saying, “Lo siento,” over and over again as he is riddled with embarrassment. For some reason he likes to always apologize in Spanish.
This is all before I START my day. When I get home if Rocco tries to lick me, I WILL vomit and then proceed with cutting his tongue off. Happy Wednesday!