After that, she styled her hair with a NutraGrain
bar. It’s been a day.
Originally uploaded by nichole_e.
I should never have changed the sheets.
When Poppy woke up this morning, there was a little stain on her sheet. She has another molar coming in, so I’m pretty sure it was a bit of bloody drool.
(I know that’s gross. But trust me, this gets grosser.)
So I changed the sheet, and we went downstairs and did our thing.* While Poppy napped with The Buddies (Elmo, Ernie, Grover and Big Bird), I played Zelda** and washed the dishes and Flickred a bit. I heard Poppy wake up and gave her a few minutes of solo playtime before I went upstairs to fetch her.
That was my second mistake.
She was holding Grover triumphantly over her head, as she normally does after her nap. But instead of her usual greeting — “Halooooo! Grogo! — she said a single word that made my blood run cold: “Poop!”
She was so cheerful. And so stinky.
There was pooh everywhere. On the formerly fresh sheet. On Grover’s furry blue backside. All over poor Elmo. On Ernie’s fashionably stripey shirt. On Poppy’s big toe. E v e r y w h e r e.
I whisked Poppy up (at arm’s length) and into the bathroom. After gingerly removing her soiled duds and setting to work on the woefully inadequate diaper, I discovered an additional horror. An even more horrible horror.
Her feet.
She must have done the jig in the pooh. The soles of her dainty feet were coated in it.
So I scrubbed her feet with baby wipes*** and put her in the bath to scrub her some more and washed the buddies and dried her off and put on a new diaper and took off the nasty sheet and put Elmo (the only machine-washable Buddy) in a pillowcase and threw the whole shebang (minus Poppy, of course) into the washing machine and dressed Poppy, and then we went to the post office.
And then we came home. And I gave Poppy a snack. And I sat down to write this.
And then I found pooh on my sleeve.
. . . . .
*Our thing:
**A little freakier than normal this time. I turned into a wolf? Dude.
***and clogged the toilet with said wipes, which was a whole ‘nother adventure.
. . . . . the end . . . . .