When it’s Monday and you’re trying to get your baby and your toddler in the door while also carrying the diaper bag, your purse, your breast pump, your school bag, and the mail. You open the door from the garage into the house and your 140 pound dog about knocks you over. You drop the mail and your toddler is saying “Mommy, play outside?” fifty times over and you say “No, honey. Mommy has to feed the baby” while the baby is screaming because she is hungry.
You finally get in the door and undress enough (tmi?) to feed the baby when your toddler forgets about playing outside and asks if he can play on his Nabi. You agree because you want the baby to stop screaming and you don’t know what you’re saying.
You start feeding the baby, and everything seems calm for about .42 seconds but then your toddler gives you the face–you know–the poop face. You ask “Do you have to go to the potty?” and he says “No” but you know it’s only because he wants to keep playing on his Nabi. He makes another face and grabs at his butt, and you know you don’t have much time. You say “Let’s go to the potty,” and your toddler says “No! Nabi! Nabi!” and buries his head in his hands, so you say “Okay! Bring the Nabi!” because you’re positive there’s about to be a poop explosion. You put the baby down and run to the bathroom with your toddler.
You make it to the bathroom and your toddler successfully poops on the potty. You do a dance, flush the toilet, wash your hands and race back to the baby who has been screaming this whole time.
You start feeding the baby again and just as you start to congratulate yourself for preventing a catastrophe your toddler farts except you know it wasn’t just a fart and a look of horror flashes across his face. He looks towards the bathroom, so you put the baby down again and the dog starts barking at the UPS guy or the neighbor or clouds in the sky.
You pull your toddlers shorts and undies down and he says “Thomas is sad” because there’s poop in his undies and you feel bad for your toddler because he actually thinks Thomas the train is mad at him. He goes poop again in the potty, and while you pretend like the baby isn’t screaming, you do a little dance, dump the poop, flush the toilet, leave the dirty undies on the floor (for now), wash your hands, let your toddler run around naked from the waist down, and go back to feeding the baby.
Your husband comes home and because you’ve had to deal with sad Thomas the train and near poop explosions, you’re still feeding the baby even though you started nearly an hour ago.
You scrap your plans for dinner and decide that it’s a good night for pizza.
Did I mention that it’s Monday?