warning: if you have a weak stomach or you don't like grossness, just skip this post. right now. run in the opposite direction as fast as you can. go ... GO!
So before I tell you my horrifying story, I have to say something.
When you are young, and you are playing house with your friends. You don't imagine anything bad. First you have to pick a new name (for me it was always Nicole, Tiffany or Nicky. They sounded like oober grown up names.) Then you have to figure out who the mom is--and you always wanted to be the mom. You were the one in charge, and you were the one that got to be grown-up.
Then, you grow up, and you think having kids will be so much fun (and it is, don't get me wrong--but stick with me here). You are going to have all fun, no bad stuff. The worst thing that will happen is a dirty diaper. You are going to be the perfect mom who bakes cookies, and keeps up with laundry and cleaning. Have dinner on the table when your hubby gets home, and generally live a perfectly fantabulous life.
What people never tell you, is you will have nights like I just had.
The day started nicely. My brother in law and his sweetie got married in a really wonderful ceremony at the temple. (congrats mikey and alyssa!) We came home and the boys took naps. Then we went to the wedding reception. That is when the niceness ended.
Blake decided that he was going to be as difficult as possible. "Do you want a drink?" "No." "Do you want to go find grandpa?" "No." "Do you want to go find Connor (or whomever... we tried lots of people)?" "No. I want to do nothing." Leave it to Blake to be so proper and yet so stubborn at the same time. So I end up grabbing a drink and handing him off to Matt. Yes, I had had enough. About 15 minutes later, Blake is brought to me in tears. He couldn't find me. He decided that he actually did want to do something. He wanted to sit on my lap and just cuddle (sweet). I asked him if he felt okay, and he said he was just tired. WRONG!
At this point, I have to interrupt my story and tell you about a term that Matt has coined (well maybe someone else coined it, but he is the one who introduced it to me...). B.U. (prounounced boo). What does B.U. stand for? Butt Urine. You read right... we actually discuss stuff like this. Gross! B.U. is the equivalent of brown water coming out your... nevermind. Anyway... back to the story.
So I am sitting there talking to friends, rubbing Blake's back and rocking him. I go to scratch his back under his shirt and I feel something. Something a bit gooey, and warm, and wet. I pull my hand back and UG! My fingers were COVERED in B.U. I just cringe and look at the rest of the table, and I am at a loss for words. So, not only am I at a wedding, with a "tired" son, and a lot of friends, my hand is covered in --and my lap is filled with--B.U! My brother-in-law's poor friend just looked at me and said "What can I do" and I sent him after Matt. The rest of the table got up and got water and napkins, and I just sat there with a B.U. covered child and lap. LOVELY. Blake just cries, and I send him to the car with Matt for a change of clothes (which I am so glad we had! LESSON LEARNED... always have a change of clothes). Then I get to wind my way through the wedding reception to the bathroom. I am sure that the people at the wedding thought I had really really bad gas or something. I can see it now... "What is that stench? Oh it is that poor poo covered woman."
So we finally get out of there, and make our way home.
We bathed him (Yes... B.U. in 3 inches of tub water is a great thing), then rebathed him. Got him in jammies. And in bed.
So... tonight was not my favorite night as a mother.
There are times that being a mother is a crap shoot (in this case, pun intended). No lie. But then you see something like this....