This morning, Ellie pooped in my bed. I never thought I'd write a blog post about poop, but here goes.
So Mike was getting ready for work, I was awake but resisting the shower, and Ellie was laying in bed next to me. Kicking her feet, smiling at the wall... the usual. And then there were some other noises emanating from my child that have also become status quo around here. We laughed, saying things like, "Excuse you!" and "I bet you feel better now, huh?"
Somewhere between my sing-songing, "What a stinky girl you are!" and "Who wants clean pants?" I realized it. She'd fought hard for this poop, and won, and now victory had claimed 50% of her backside in an explosive attempt to escape her diaper.
How children can poop upward is beyond me. I wonder if I wore a diaper... you know what, nevermind. I'm not even going to go there.
The point is, why are we spending all this money on diapers if my daughter is going to try to poop up to her neck? I'm going to buy body suits made of diaper material. And if they don't have them yet, I'm going to invent them.
Anyway, the poop managed to triumph over the diaper's waistband, soak through her polka dot pajamas, and into my sheets. Awesome. I thought I was done with this nonsense when I got Penny housebroken.
So I stripped the baby, stripped the bed, and everyone got washed. All before 7 am.
And I thought I wasn't going to be productive today...