What's all the stink about?
Everyone Poops. Did you know that is a real book? You might have seen it featured in the movie "Dan in Real Life." I have never liked the idea of poop. (Can you see where this is leading?) I never liked using the pooper-scooper to pick up the doggie do-do. Or cleaning it off the carpet while training the puppies we've had growing up. I freaked out when my baby sister had poop all over herself, the crib, and everywhere it shouldn't be, and I was alone to clean it up. (Sorry if that embarrases you, more than it does me - Annie.) It was just nasty to change a neighbor kids' diaper when babysitting. After 10 years personal experience, I couldn't imagine changing my own kids' unmentionables with a smile on my face.
Well, I've made it these almost 7 years since with my own children, many times due to my husband's gullible response to take care of it. "After all honey," I would say, "you did grow up on a farm - so you can handle the smell better than me." My pregnant nose picks up that smell from rooms away, and I cringe at the thought of changing yet another diaper and many more to come.
Well, Tom's not here tonight, and I don't think he'd give in this time. Tonight, I quickly went through the motions to get Sabrina all fixed up so we could play a nice game of Wii Sports before bedtime. She had those pebbles that just fall neatly into the diaper with little to do on my part. But the stench still seemed to fill the air. That's when it happened... Stanley had carried a load of his own into my breathing space. Mr Potty Trained months ago let one slip...again.
Am I the only one who freaks out at this? I know I shouldn't get mad at him, but it's been a long 2 years of potty training, and I just want to be done. I got another to train in a year, and more diapers coming in July. Now with my superior senses feeling overcome with rottenness, I literally freak out. Yes, Stanley got some yelling and "dirty" looks. And to add to the comotion, I get a phone call at THAT exact moment. I was waiting for the call, but when I pick up the phone - something always goes wrong. I kept the "look" but did my best to maintain a calm tone.
Moments later I finally get to the good part, where I have to scrape the "crap" off. Last resort is the bath tub and buckets of water. And oh my gosh - you gotta be kidding me! I have to touch it? I have to scrub with my bare hands those darkened underwear. I wish I wasn't so spending concious, I'd toss those buggers right into the trash bag like my old neighbor used to do. She wasn't too keen on washing them either. But hey, underwear are expensive, and chances are he'll do it again. Right?
So here I type with my sanitized, yet still stinky fingers. Hoping I am not the only one who reacts this way. You know, completely disgusted, and wondering why children don't naturally learn it on their own at age 3. I hope that in a few days I can read this again and have a good laugh. Maybe?
Well, I've made it these almost 7 years since with my own children, many times due to my husband's gullible response to take care of it. "After all honey," I would say, "you did grow up on a farm - so you can handle the smell better than me." My pregnant nose picks up that smell from rooms away, and I cringe at the thought of changing yet another diaper and many more to come.
Well, Tom's not here tonight, and I don't think he'd give in this time. Tonight, I quickly went through the motions to get Sabrina all fixed up so we could play a nice game of Wii Sports before bedtime. She had those pebbles that just fall neatly into the diaper with little to do on my part. But the stench still seemed to fill the air. That's when it happened... Stanley had carried a load of his own into my breathing space. Mr Potty Trained months ago let one slip...again.
Am I the only one who freaks out at this? I know I shouldn't get mad at him, but it's been a long 2 years of potty training, and I just want to be done. I got another to train in a year, and more diapers coming in July. Now with my superior senses feeling overcome with rottenness, I literally freak out. Yes, Stanley got some yelling and "dirty" looks. And to add to the comotion, I get a phone call at THAT exact moment. I was waiting for the call, but when I pick up the phone - something always goes wrong. I kept the "look" but did my best to maintain a calm tone.
Moments later I finally get to the good part, where I have to scrape the "crap" off. Last resort is the bath tub and buckets of water. And oh my gosh - you gotta be kidding me! I have to touch it? I have to scrub with my bare hands those darkened underwear. I wish I wasn't so spending concious, I'd toss those buggers right into the trash bag like my old neighbor used to do. She wasn't too keen on washing them either. But hey, underwear are expensive, and chances are he'll do it again. Right?
So here I type with my sanitized, yet still stinky fingers. Hoping I am not the only one who reacts this way. You know, completely disgusted, and wondering why children don't naturally learn it on their own at age 3. I hope that in a few days I can read this again and have a good laugh. Maybe?
All I can say now is....
EW! Where's the Febreeze
and can I spray it on myself?
