They are also sometimes the worst. Sometimes my husband is also the worst. (Sometimes the best too..)
The other evening I was sitting in my rocking chair with my 8 month old son. He was nursing quite happily. My husband was helping our 5 year old daughter get ready for bed. It was "Potty, Pull Up, Pajama" time.
I hear my husband say "I am so disappointed in you! You know better than that! UGH! Go tell your mother what you did."
My little princess timidly (not normal for her) comes into the living room looking down at her feet. She crinkles a little with each step because she has her night time Pull Up on. (She sleeps so hard and deep she won't wake to go potty at night.)
"What happened?" I ask.
She refuses to answer me. Looking everywhere but at me. Hubs comes around the corner saying something about disinfectant wipes... Not a good sign.
He stomps through the living room, to the kitchen and then back again to the bathroom. On his way there he says "She made an angry frowny face on the toilet seat out of poop the last time she used the bathroom."
"Why?!" I ask my daughter.
She stands there sucking on two of her fingers, and eventually replies "I don't know."
So we have the talk about what to do if you get poop on your hands... again. The talk about using more TP. For some reason she feels that a single square will suffice when she has gone #2. This has lead to many messes and poop in places it shouldn't be.
Properly chastised my daughter apologies sincerely for her misdeed.
We finish bedtime routine. She is in bed and headed off to dreamland. I manage to get the baby down at a reasonable time. We finally, finally got him to accept being in his crib instead of the bassinet.
Having nursed him for so long I need to use the bathroom myself.
I go in there, thinking grateful thoughts about my husband taking one for the team and cleaning the shit off the toilet seat. I sit down to do my own business, and in mid pee, right at eye level from me I see a constellation of little droplets of shit splattered on the wall. I raise my eyes to the heavens in frustration because my hubs had missed this, then shake my head in irritation. I finish the job, get up to wash my hands and see another constellation of shit on the mirror over the sink and on the counter next to it.
I felt it was understandable to miss the poop on the wall opposite the toilet. I was aggrieved that he missed it on the mirror and apparently did a little clean up on the counter. Then I turn to the door to exit the bathroom and fetch the disinfectant wipes, bleach, and rags.
That is when I see it. There by the doorknob. A quirky little stick figure in shit. How did he miss ALL of this???
I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh. To cry. I ended up doing a Captain Picard facepalm.
Instead, I IGNORED THE SHIT. Just as my husband apparently did. I mean, seriously, if there is shit in one place, one would think they should probably look around for more.
I just wanted to go to sleep, because in a few short hours my son would be up and wanting to nurse again.
I glowered at my husband. Explained that he missed a few things and waited. He said "I guess I must have missed it."
Since the poop had already dried on there from when it was applied to the bathroom walls, I figured there wasn't any point to scrubbing at it now and giving up valuable sleep time. I decided it could just stay there until after work when I would have time to deal with it. Though I held onto the secret hope that Hubs would take care of it in the morning.
I tend to do most of the housework. Sometimes I'm OK with this, and sometimes I resent this fact. I'm better at multi tasking and he can only seem to do one thing at a time.
I did get more sleep. BUT I had to give up some of my me time to clean up the poop all over the bathroom.
Motherhood is a beautiful thing. It is also a disgusting messy thing where the scatological part of life rears its ugly head time and time again.
Shit happens. I still love my family.
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