Disclaimer/Notice/Attention: This post is mostly about baby poop and nursing. It will probably be awkward to some people. Here are two happy pictures to take up some space so that those who are not interested in reading this post won’t see anything they don’t want to.
Ok. Anyone still around deserves what they get.
What follows is the story of how we missed church on this, the second week of football Sundays. (Hint: it has nothing to do with football, it’s just a coincidence.)
We have started attending church. This is actually well overdue, but before we had the boy, we would sleep in until 10 or so on the weekends and not really want to go to church at 1030. Oh, and we’re heathens. Now, however, I/we get up around 7 on weekends, so we have plenty of time to pull ourselves together and make it somewhere in 3 1/2 hours.
This morning, though, the boy decided to sleep past his normal well past 7. I have two morning policies: 1) don’t wake a sleeping baby; and 2) don’t get in the shower before he gets up in the morning, because he will inevitably wake up right after you have passed the point of no return and will wail the entire shower time without you even hearing him because the shower is so loud. (The second one is more paranoia than policy.) He finally woke up around 830. The problem that it wasn’t just a normal, “Hey! I’m awake and ready to play! Hows about you feed me?” It was, “Hey! I’m awake! Oh, by the way, I pooped sometime in the night, and my diaper somehow slid off to the side, so my entire body is caked with dried poop – along with my sheets and blankies! But at least I’m smily and adorable!” The husband took a picture of this, but there is no way in hell that I’m going to show that to anyone. Except maybe the grandparents. I’m sure they want to see that we’re being paid back for the hell we caused them.
It took the husband and me a good 20 minutes to clean up the poop-splosion. I took the boy, and the husband took the laundry. (I’m pretty sure he got the better deal.) As anyone who has dealt with a flood of yellow goop knows, it’s not just about wiping everything down… especially when he’s in that bicycling-the-feet stage. Every time you get one area wiped off – a heel, for instance – it kicks or waves or jerks right back into the pile o’ poo. Gross.
Then, I still had to feed him. This doesn’t take too long, but it isn’t exactly quick, either.
Finally, at 940, the boy was clean, fed, and asleep. I had 30 minutes to shower, pull myself together, pump, and throw some clothes on the boy. Oh, in the interim, the husband went in to work, with the promise of meeting me at the church, so I was on my own.
Background on breastfeeding: I pump breast milk pretty much every morning. This is not because I’m “above” feeding the boy formula (he has a bottle a 3-4 times a week), but mostly because 1) going too long between feedings hurts; 2) I’m not a fan of being incredibly lopsided; and 3) I’d like to keep up the supply. TMI? Probably, but you read the disclaimer.
Then, the phone rang at 1015. Well, vibrated, since the boy was asleep. The husband wanted to know if I was going to be able to make it to church. I told him that I wasn’t exactly ready (understatement, much?). He was very understanding and said that he thought that that might be the case – especially if the boy was still asleep. Then, I said, “Well – that’s not the main reason that I’m not ready. Have you ever tried pumping and putting eyeliner on at the same time?” Which lead to one of the funniest things he’s ever said**:
“Well… no, fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, pumping while applying eyeliner is not one of the many rich experiences that has constituted my life thus far.”
And, that is how poop, breast pumps and eyeliner thwarted our church-going plans.
**The other funniest thing he’s ever said happened one time when I didn’t know that he was working on fixing a broken toilet, and all a sudden I heard him yell, “F*** you, toilet!!!”