PSA: toddlers are insane. Oh, what, that's not news to you? It's not news to my new friend Sharon at Poison Control, either. She told me earlier, as she reassured me that these things happen to even the best of moms, that they'd be out of business without two year olds. And almost-two year olds, apparently.
Let me back up. We were at a perfectly nice playdate with friends this morning. Well, perfect except for my poop-challenged child luring me into the bathroom 87 times to do nothing. But otherwise? Fun! Coffee! Chatting! A snuggly baby to snuggle! All very nice. Until the very end. The moms were cleaning up and discussing mom things in the living room. The kids were in eye-and-earshot just down the hall. Suddenly, I see Vivi running panicked down the hallway, gagging. I ran to her, scooped her up, and immediately smelled something chemical on her breath. My heart just DROPPED, you guys. Your baby shouldn't ever smell chemicalish, you know? I ran down to the room they'd been in, gaggy Vivi my arms, trying not to lose my cool as I asked Anderson to tell me what his sister had gotten into. Just as he held up a (now cap-less) bottle of liquid hand sanitizer, the barf shower started. On the (clean, pretty) carpet. On Vivi. On me. And it just kept on coming as I ran to the bathroom and climbed into the tub with her, trying to spare future damage to my friend's house, and also because I was straight up fuh-reaking and needed to just sit there and hold her close and figure out what the hell we were supposed to do next.
I'm grateful tonight. Grateful my baby is okay. Grateful for quick-thinking friends, friends who clean my daughter's vomit off the carpet and the tub without blinking an eye and send us off with clean (borrowed) clothes and warm hugs. And who send messages throughout the afternoon to check up on us. And grateful for the reminder that even if you THINK you're being cautious and careful, you need to be MORE cautious and careful because TODDLERS ARE INSANE.
Oh and then? We came home, ate lunch, and the bigger little chose this day to crap his pants for the first time. And by pants I DO mean footie pajamas (yeah, he wore that to the playdate, SO?) And no undies (because I've got one unworking toilet killed off by flushed Elmopants, so NO MORE ELMOPANTS). So use your imagination about how fantastic THAT mess was. Gag, barf, omg, etc.
TM2 and wine? Oh yes, they will be mine. Because hey, my day might have been about poison and barf and poop in the foot of footies .... but at least my mom never threw my underpants out on the curb in a laundry basket!
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