Super

Super
And for once I was SuperMom

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

A Defecacious Day

One of the things I have realized about living in a tourist town is that often instead of taking your own vacation you are facilitating other people’s vacations. Which I do thoroughly enjoy, in fact Scott and I have made a point of doing certain hikes all around town so that we can take guests. So my Dad, my stepmom, and her mom were out this weekend. Really they were less out to see Colorado and more out to see us, which is lovely.
And tiring. After a weekend of lots of driving, sitting back and watching my parent’s love on my kid, more driving, and a late night driving in from Denver and few wake-ups from my child, where in I was so tired that I was woozy, I woke up feeling like I was dragging my rear end about ten feet behind me. After a foggy morning I threw on yoga pants and a long sleeve top, put Emma in the new REI baby backpack we just got and thought I’d take her for a long walk, to get my blood flowing and to keep her awake until her nap time. About twenty minutes into the walk, I felt a lack of the usual squirming and peered over my shoulder to only see the top of her wee forehead. Damn, sleeping. She slept for the rest of the walk therefore shooting a big hole in her morning nap.
Upon arrival at home I saw that her sweet little forehead had worn a rug burn on it from resting on the front of the backpack. My baby’s first real booboo. I dipped my toe into the mommy guilt pool, but wouldn’t let myself dive in, because how was I supposed to know? Inspection of the backpack gave no answers because it’s all soft and completely padded. My daughter’s uber-sensitive skin strikes again.
My mother-in-law did my a huge favor and watched her while I showered, so I got a quiet shower instead of her crawling around the floor of the bathroom, ignoring all the cute toys I just gave her and crying uncontrollably until I give up on shampooing my hair and jump out and hold her. I got clean and dressed in peaceful silence. As I was putting on a white shirt I thought, ‘is this really the best choice today?’
Speaking of my child’s sensitive skin, she has developed the most terrifying diaper rash over the weekend. The second you whip off her diaper she remember her rash, starts crying and her little hands go inching down there to start scratching. Normally that wouldn’t bother me except that there’s poo, the most insidious of substances. Every diaper change turns into a battle royale. I am batting her hands out of the way, telling her no, wiping poo off her bottom, wiping poo off her hands, exchanging the diaper, and attempting to apply rash cream. This was a pre-nap diaper so she started rubbing her eyes in the midst of all this. She got diaper rash cream on her forehead. I am pretty sure there are microscopic bits of poo flung all over the nursery.
Added to all that trauma of getting your drawers forcibly changed, and being reminded of the open sore on your butt she got her hands washed. She hates this. I opted not to dress her and just her put her down for her nap in her diaper. I then looked down at my own shirt. A strange orange spot the size of a dime on my left shoulder, blood from her head wound perhaps? More orange spots right underneath my collar, tomato, maybe? And a non-descript beige quarter size beige spot on the sleeve right above the elbow, poo? But it didn’t smell. I left it on. Emma was already on her third outfit of the day, I didn’t want to go for a record myself.
Later in the day while changing out the crib sheet that she had peed on and holding my leaky child I felt a warm spot on my side. Sure enough, pee on me. I changed her diaper (see above), and started to put new clothes on her and then thought,
“Nope, you’ve lost that privilege, no more clothes for you,” until bed time she cruised around in her diaper, and I changed into a green shirt. I think I’ll stop buying white until she’s in high school.

No comments: