Scenes from a Bathroom
It was an uneventful night after the late-night poop-and-laundry fest I blogged about less than twelve hours ago. The morning began with Hugh wandering in to my room, requesting that I "tuck him in on the floor." Apparently, despite a sound sleep in his bed, he really just wanted to sleep on that hard surface. Because of the perseverative qualities of my son, I obliged him, then headed off to the bathroom and checked my watch. 6:30am. I'd had about 6 1/2 hours of sleep, which were blissfully uninterrupted. Hooray!
I had just gotten in to the tub when Neva arrived in our bathroom, saying her tummy hurt. I invited her to sit on our toilet where she proceeded to have more diarrhea not three feet from my face. Lovely! (Better in the toilet than on the sheets, is all I have to say.) Neva remained on the toilet, chatting away about today's upcoming ultrasound, while I bathed myself.
Next, Hugh wandered in holding what appeared to be (to my non-lensed eyeballs) an open package of Smarties. Half-price chocolate bars were an irresitible treat to a pregnant woman on my last trip to the grocery store, and Hugh apparently noted where we were stashing them in the kitchen. I guess that "tuck-in" on the floor didn't take, so he took matters in to his own hands, went downstairs in to the kitchen, pulled a chair over to the counter, and hauled out the Smarties. Upon closer inspection, he hadn't been able to open it (probably why he came up in the first place -- if he had opened it, he would have just sat downstairs and eaten the whole box), so he put the Smarites down, and proceeded to investigate the items in our bathroom like my lip balm and the nail clippers. Those are safe for a two-year-old to play with, right?
So here was Neva sitting on a toilet full of diarrhea, Hugh playing with sharp objects, and me rushing through my bath to get out and get things back to some semblance of "normal." All of a sudden Neva looked at my breasts and said, "Well, those are bigger!" I agreed, saying that when a woman gets pregnant, her breasts fill with milk so the baby will have something to eat. "Oh," she said. "Like a baby bottle!" The original baby bottle, in fact, my girl.
By this point I was washed and getting dried off, and after a brief discussion about the purpose of deodorant, a thorough wipe of Neva's bum and a request from Hugh to take off his jammies, we were out of the bathroom and continuing on with our day. Neva's home from school again, so the ultrasound will be a family affair, which ultimately is kind of neat. (We booked this time slot purposely so Jeffy could be at this baby's ultrasound, since he's never been to one of our kids' first photo shoots before.) The fact that the kids will be coming with us will make it an interesting, and hopefully fun, experience. I just hope we can all keep our various bodily fluids contained for the duration of our excursion.
I had just gotten in to the tub when Neva arrived in our bathroom, saying her tummy hurt. I invited her to sit on our toilet where she proceeded to have more diarrhea not three feet from my face. Lovely! (Better in the toilet than on the sheets, is all I have to say.) Neva remained on the toilet, chatting away about today's upcoming ultrasound, while I bathed myself.
Next, Hugh wandered in holding what appeared to be (to my non-lensed eyeballs) an open package of Smarties. Half-price chocolate bars were an irresitible treat to a pregnant woman on my last trip to the grocery store, and Hugh apparently noted where we were stashing them in the kitchen. I guess that "tuck-in" on the floor didn't take, so he took matters in to his own hands, went downstairs in to the kitchen, pulled a chair over to the counter, and hauled out the Smarties. Upon closer inspection, he hadn't been able to open it (probably why he came up in the first place -- if he had opened it, he would have just sat downstairs and eaten the whole box), so he put the Smarites down, and proceeded to investigate the items in our bathroom like my lip balm and the nail clippers. Those are safe for a two-year-old to play with, right?
So here was Neva sitting on a toilet full of diarrhea, Hugh playing with sharp objects, and me rushing through my bath to get out and get things back to some semblance of "normal." All of a sudden Neva looked at my breasts and said, "Well, those are bigger!" I agreed, saying that when a woman gets pregnant, her breasts fill with milk so the baby will have something to eat. "Oh," she said. "Like a baby bottle!" The original baby bottle, in fact, my girl.
By this point I was washed and getting dried off, and after a brief discussion about the purpose of deodorant, a thorough wipe of Neva's bum and a request from Hugh to take off his jammies, we were out of the bathroom and continuing on with our day. Neva's home from school again, so the ultrasound will be a family affair, which ultimately is kind of neat. (We booked this time slot purposely so Jeffy could be at this baby's ultrasound, since he's never been to one of our kids' first photo shoots before.) The fact that the kids will be coming with us will make it an interesting, and hopefully fun, experience. I just hope we can all keep our various bodily fluids contained for the duration of our excursion.
| posted at 8:12 AM |
