Someday I'll learn

Ok, you know what? After today, I DO want my money back.

"today" started just after midnight when I got home from the gala and checked on my son before I went to bed -- while leaning over to kiss him, I wondered what he ate while I was out, because he had apparently passed some serious gas. He's only 8 so I was surprised and thought it was funny.

On looking back, I realize that the alarm was ringing, but I didn't hear the bell. Silly me, wanting to go to sleep.

This morning I walked in the bathroom to take a shower. I faintly smelled something rather "off" again, but I wasn't quite awake. Had to go to church, etc. So, I didn't investigate.

My son was eating breakfast when I walked out into the kitchen. Now, you have to promise to NEVER speak to him of this, please. He doesn't know his mother's blogging it for all 5 of her readers. ;-)

He got up and jogged into the bathroom and then I heard that dreaded "Mommmmmm?" that tells you Something Is Wrong.

Mr. C ventured in (knowing that no kid who calls Mommmm ever really wants Dad, but sometimes Mommy is hiding under the kitchen table and it's easier to go yourself than to listen to the kid call over and over) and made the discovery that apparently Son had been peeing, and let a fart rip, ... and shit all over himself and his pajamas.

Yeah.

THAT is parenthood, the most glamorous of vocations. Put your cereal spoon down, go into the bathroom where your child is crying and wash goopy stuff out of your kid's jammies while you both assure him that Mommy Is Not Mad, It's OK and We Will Fix It.

Wash your hands 50x with antibacterial soap and think about how you are no longer hungry. Aspire to this, people! It is a noble goal to humble yourself and serve your children in this way. Or it is the sheer insanity of not thinking through that nooky under the christmas tree and what it will cost you for 18 years?

After church laundry time rolled around. Back in the main bathroom again, I yanked open the door to the closet where I keep the big laundry basket, and almost fell over.

More poop.

Only this was clearly poop from last night.

After a few rounds of Please TELL Us What Happened Because We're Not Mad, we determined that he shat himself during the night also, got up all alone in the dark, stripped THOSE pajamas off, and put them in the laundry hamper(I swear to you this is the only time this year he's taken an item of clothing off of his body and put it into the hamper).

Inspection of his sheets... well, you know what I found. More skids and more weeping. Not him, me.

I'm guessing the mini explosion happened before I got home, and by kissing him goodnight I disturbed him enough that he eventually got up a little while later. See, you shouldn't kiss your kids goodnight. No, I'm kidding.

Someday I'll learn that if I don't listen to that little alarm bell I'll be sorry.