Tonight, we had some friends over for dinner. Hubby had been working on a bolognese all afternoon, and we were all really excited. As usual with tomato-based sauces for dinner, we took the kids clothes off before they got their food. (Anyone else try to save laundry this way?)
When everyone was finishing up, we started taking dishes to the sink, cleaning up a bit, and sipping the last sips of our wine. I look over at J, still in his high chair. His hands are hidden behind him, and he says, “Poop!”
My friend Andrea and I look at each other. Did he just say “poop”? I get up, and realize his hands are behind him, in his diaper. I look at his hands. There’s a questionable substance. In my head, I’m going back and forth: Meat from the sauce? Poop? I can’t tell. Should I smell it? Oh gosh, I don’t want to deal with it if it’s poop. Do I just dump him in the tub? Out loud, I say, “Oh no. Please don’t be poop. Oh God… I think it’s poop! RYAN!”
You guys, praise the Lord for husbands who save the day. Hubby saves mine almost daily, but this takes the cake (at least this week). He scooped J up and took care of the poop problem. What a guy.
Moral of the story: If I hadn’t taken his clothes off, he probably wouldn’t have been able to touch it. Blerg.
Anyone else have a recent poop story to share? I know we all have them sometimes. PLEASE tell me I’m not the only one!