3/6/12

I don't fancy myself a "mommy blogger". You know the type. Women who stay at home with their children, so naturally they have time to bake gourmet desserts, potty train their 18-month-olds, teach their three-year-olds how to read, and build their own television sets and bicycles out of pallets, mason jars, and Borax... but only after they've finished writing, editing, and posting their daily anecdote on their blog, accompanied by thousand-dollar-an-hour-photographer quality photos of their creations.

I'm not that.

To be honest, surrounded and bombarded by the social media that we are, I've always been intrigued by the people who post non-stop updates and blog about the daily lives that everyone else is just living. It begs the question: "Who gives a rat's ass?"

Let's be real. Unless you have the ability to hilariously describe a typical and mundane version of the exact same stay-at-home-mom situation I have going on here in my own house (I'm talking making me spit a mouthful of my 25% Wild Cherry Pepsi, 75% Diet Pepsi cocktail all over my keyboard)... when, where, or why would I spend naptime reading about your day instead of living mine?

That's why I won't only write stories about my kids. They are a huge part of my life, obviously. But they are not the only part, nor the only aspect of life I want to look back on and remember.

That being said, there are things that happen to us all, particularly mothers of young children, that are just too terrifying not to share. And after that blatant snobbery written up there, feel free to skip reading about my typical, mundane day as a mother of a three-year-old and three-month-old baby... I won't mind.

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The date was March 6, 2012. I only know this because when I told the story to my group of high school seniors, they dubbed it "3/6/12" as if comparing it to the Apocalypse or the end of the Mayan Calendar. On the day it happened, I was praying for the end of the world, so I liked the comparison.

Kealani had turned three a few weeks before. She'd been officially potty-trained for a couple months. (I consider "officially" to be going 99% of the time on the toilet before it's too late and not wearing diapers at night... and she was there.) Leila was a week shy of three months old and we were still in the process of learning how to take care of this new human. (Who am I kidding, does that ever end?) Jon and I were in a constant state of physical exhaustion from waking up in the middle of the night.

Because my brain has blocked the minute details in order to protect me, I can't even remember each factor... but whatever they were, together they created a perfect storm.

First, around mid morning, Kealani decided the best place to empty her bladder would be on the carpet. In three different rooms. Contrary to popular belief, which affirms that the best way to pee is to stop moving, KK thought it would be more philanthropic to share her wealth. And everyone knows how much people love the smell of urine. As I said before, KK was potty-trained. She hadn't acted out for extra attention in the 2 months and 3 weeks of her new sister's life, so I had no idea what the reason for this was. All I knew was the color red. For rage.

I huffily stripped KK out of her clothes, threw them violently into a plastic bag and onto our porch, deposited my daughter into the bathtub and proceeded to rinse her off. All the while, I lectured her, questioned her motives, and said what I could to ensure this would never ever happen again. Ever. Also, Leila was in the hallway lying on her back, screaming.

I had things back under control relatively quickly, fed both girls and got them both down for naps as soon as possible. It was only lunchtime and my mental, physical, and emotional levels of energy were already depleted. I was ready to sit on the couch and do nothing.

Kealani's naps have always lasted anywhere from two to three hours. She's an amazing sleeper.

But not on 3/6/12. She called for me about an hour and fifteen minutes after falling asleep. I had just begun to doze off on the couch, and being jolted out of my much needed slumber at least 45 minutes early did nothing to improve the mood I was in.

I stomped back to her bedroom, shoved her door open and said, "You did not sleep long enough. You need to lie back down and rest. I'll be back when you can get up. Do you have to go potty?"

"No."

"You may only come out if you have to pee or poop. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Having been rousted out of my dream-state, I knew I couldn't and shouldn't try again for a nap. I just didn't want to be bothered by the incessant conversation Kealani would bring out to the living room with her. Hence the lockdown. Another half hour or so went by before I heard a much quieter, more timid voice wafting from the back of the house. "Mom? I have to poop."

I quickly returned to her room, knowing that "I have to poop" doesn't mean I could use a toilet in the next fifteen minutes or so. It means some of the poop might already be peeking out and she needs a toilet urgently.

I opened the door to find Kealani standing next to her bed looking guilty. The smell hit me a fraction of a second after the realization that I had a large-scale situation on my hands. I crossed the bedroom in a stride and a half and found a tiny nugget on the floor, just before pulling back KK's waistband to find a patty worthy of a Hearst Ranch grass fed heifer. Instantly I entered Angry Mommy Mode. Not even a miniscule strand of patience was left for me to grasp as I began my tirade. Twice in ONE DAY???

"I TOLD you if you needed to pee or poop you could COME OUT OF YOUR ROOM!! WHY would you sit in here and poop IN YOUR PANTS?!?!"

"I don't know! I'm sorry Mommy!"

"Get into the bathroom NOW."

As I peeled the completely soiled undies off Kealani's butt, I realized I was in too far over my head. At this exact moment, Leila started to cry from her crib, no doubt ready to eat. A series of expletives ran in and out of my head, as I simultaneously yelled at KK to stay put and swooped into Leila's room, grabbed her, set a diaper-changing world record, gently set her in the hall (incidentally the precise spot she lay helplessly while I bathed KK a mere hours before) and lunged back into the bathroom, never breaking stride.

As Leila began screaming again (since no hungry newborn in the history of mankind has enjoyed being left in the middle of an empty hallway), I grabbed KK, plunked her back into the tub, and yanked the faucet on. Without warning, I turned the shower head on full blast.

Directly into my beloved first born's face.

It was cold. It was her first shower. It was traumatizing.

Soon KK's screams surpassed Leila's as their chorus from hell drifted out of every open window in our home. It's a true marvel that CPS was not called on me that day.


At this point I called Jon. I believe the conversation went something like this:

"Hello Babe."

"I... gasp, gasp... need... sob... HELP."

"What's happening?"

"KK... pooped... it's everywhere... I don't know *gasp* what to do... Leila's screaming... please come home!"

"Ok, I'll be there as soon as possible."


I returned to the tub and scrubbed Kealani's tiny butt, making no effort to be gentle. Poo chunks fell off and swirled in circles until finally being sucked down the drain as I suppressed the gag reflex induced by imagining myself taking a shower in this giant petri dish of bacteria. Once KK was "clean", for good measure I sprayed her face and guided the shower head back over her entire body as she crouched, shivering and crying in the corner of the tub. (Heartbreaking, isn't it?) It was like watching a captive spider trying to climb up the side of a glass jar to freedom. And it gave me the tiniest bit of sick, twisted satisfaction.

As I let Kealani stand in the shower, I began work on the next predicament. What do I do with a pair of three-year-old sized skivvies with a dinner plate sized crap oozing out of them? At that moment they were sitting in our one and only bathroom sink. This made me want to hurl, much like watching the poo chunks float down the tub drain. Oh, the disinfecting I was going to have to do. And remember Leila? Yeah, she was still screaming... probably assuming she was going to starve to death.

Tears streaming down my face, I knew I'd verifiably lost it. When Jon got there (in pretty amazing time, I must add), he seamlessly took over the bathroom scene and allowed me to take screaming baby #2 into another room to nourish her.  He finished the bathing/water torture (in a much gentler and more patient manner than I), found KK's crap-filled Nemo undies and simply dropped them in a plastic bag and took them straight outside to the trash can. (Hmmmm. Brilliant.) He then spot cleaned the carpet in KK's room where her first nugget had landed, and wiped up any trace of feces on the bathroom floor. KK joined her sister and me in the front room.

The same way one drives from point A to point B and can't remember how they got there, I had fed Leila and settled us all down to watch Sesame Street in a complete daze. When Jon returned to the living room, I could tell he was frightened. Gazing at my under-eye circles and tear-streaked face, I'm sure he was thinking "Could it have really been that bad?" 

I tell you what, it was a had-to-be-there scenario. With no comedy involved.

The derangement passed, Jon returned to work, I made dinner, and eventually bleached the bathroom sink, floor, and bathtub. Business as usual.

3/6/12 is, to date, the worst day I've ever had as a mom of two. The combination of exhaustion, Kealani's apparent memory lapse of how a toilet works, my newborn's hungry screams, and my reaction to each factor made for a heinous day. Looking back on it, I'm actually thankful this has been the worst to happen so far. As literally crappy as it was, it wasn't that bad.

And then there's Kealani. Leave it to her to lighten up any bad mood I'm in, regardless of whether or not she's the one who put me in it. Hopefully her phobia of showers will end before she is forced to share 2' x 2' stalls with thirty-seven other girls in a dorm hall.

That night as I kissed her goodnight and tucked her into bed, our discourse went like this:

"KK, I'm sorry we had a rough day today. We'll have a better one tomorrow, ok? I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom. I'm sorry I got in trouble when I pooped the floor."



 ***Epilogue ~ Kealani has not pooped the floor or her pants since 3/6/12.***