So, it was a typical day at the happy happy kiddie farm in Joyceland. Things were going along in their regular way, what with SJ drawing pictures and intermittently having three year old meltdowns; S and L ramping hotwheels cars and stifling the urge to indulge in potty humour; and the two tiniest cherubs catching some zzzzz's in their cozy upstairs hideways.
The naps went on for an impressive length of time, and ever-attentive Joyce snuck a peak and an ear to the two little peanuts snoozing in their chambers. All was well. Time left to clean up lunch just about in time to start dinner.
But the clock snuck nearer to pick-up time, and it felt prudent to nudge little ones from their sleepy spots in time for diaper adjustments and sippy cup refills.
And sure enough. This time as I ascended the stairway, I could hear murmerings and burblings of a sweet female nature. I pushed open the bedroom door to be
*HOW DID A CAT GET IN HERE AND DEFICATE IN SUCH AN UNHOLY MANNER?! *
Putridity.
And it wasn't from a furry feline after all. Nothing but a wee little human in this space.
What greeted my wide-eyed wonder was a little wee brown bear; peering up over the edge of her playpen in the most innocent of stances. She wore no diaper. She wore the evidence of her clever un-clothing all over her tender little self. Brown knees. Brown eyebrows. Brown sleeves. Brown little hands. Brown bed.
No chance of a quick wipe and diaper change getting this little flower girl ready and fresh for her mama's impending arrival. As a matter of fact, no chance of me picking her up without full armour for protection.
So, with a moan and a giggle to match the nonchalance of my little perpetrator, I ran down to run the tub and came back armed with a protective spiderman bath towel.
Wee brown bear got two baths. With bubbles. All the while looking up at me with the wide-eyed innocence of a sweet child who had learned a marvelous new skill and revelled in the curiosity of it all. (Sweet child. Not sweet-smelling.)
Oh. And just FYI.... Lemon juice on the hands of a brown-bear-babe two baths later will still smell like lemon on poop.
Just in case you were wondering.
13 comments:
Oh, Joyce.
You have my deepest sympathy.
(she says as she extends her latex-gloved hand)
oh joyce, you are amazing, Eiley did that to me once, i thin i even blogged about it, but i am still traumatized, so much poop all over bed, walls self and you doin this for someone elses sweetheart. You are an angel =)
Oh Joyce! I so know what this is all about! Our precious but now sweet smelling third child seemed to find great interest in becoming Brown Bear on a regular basis for what seemed like an awfully long period of time to my oversensetive nauseated on a regular basis stomach. And she felt a HUGE need to make all the stuff in her room brown too! It was awful! She quickly found herself wearing a one piece sleeper with a zipper and one of those wonderful old safety pins from cloth diapers through the zipper so she couldn't undress herself to play Brown Bear anymore! Thankfully we are done all that "business" now, but I think it has traumatized me for life! Hang in there Joyce! And if it happens again, my advice - go straight for the sleepers and diaper pin - it's so worth the extra time of changing wee one each nap time! Good luck on that! Pam B :)
Oh Joyce...I hope you got a tip that day!!!
If wee little brown bear happened to be borrowing K's playpen she can now be the new owner. You are a trooper Joyce. I am studying the fruit of the Spirit and I think you have mastered patience and gentleness. Thanks for taking care of my kids with such love. Melissa
As the mother of this little brown bear, I'm very glad that she was at daycare that day!! I do owe Joyce a tip, to say the very least.
The ironies of this story are entertaining, so I'll share... it is not normal for Brown Bear to be at Joyce's for her afternoon naps on Thursday... but that morning, I asked and Joyce graciously agreed to keep her for a few extra hours... second, is that little R loves the story of Brown Bear, Brown Bear... obviously a little too much!! Never fails, it is the one she picks up for me to read to her!
I did warn Joyce that R had mastered the skill of undressing (including diaper), though in her crib at home, it was only a wet one we were dealing with. At the time, Joyce saw it as a huge accomplishment... a milestone of sorts. I wonder what she thinks now... :)
Joyce has definitely earned BROWNIE points!! :) I only hope that Brown Bear still has a place to stay a few times a week!
Joyce, you were my hero before this all happened... now your pedestal has been propped up a few inches! I've said it before and I'll say it again... thank you SOOOO much for ALLLLL that you do!
~Mom to Brown Bear
p.s. I'm going to print this story for R's baby book! Will be fun to remember!
This is the funniest thing I have ever read!!
BROWNIE points.... HAHAHAHAHAHHA
All this poo talk reminds me of a time when my first born was only weeks old. And you know what poops were like at a few weeks old.....explosive like a rocket!!! The kind that shoot up thier back to their hairline!!!
With keeping the light low in my son's bedroom, so not to tease him with daylight, I set him on the change table and went about changing his butt. The thing was that I didn't have my glasses on so I was squinting trying to do a good wipe job while lifting his legs up with one hand and wiping with the other. I guess I was hunched over a bit too close, trying to see what the hell I was doing, when simultaneously I hear the rocket shot from his ass and hit my chin and continue to shoot over my shoulder and across the room.
Holy S#*t..... all my husband heard from our bedroom was " Cyril... help me, he shit on my face"!!! When Cyril tells that story he says that he didn't know what the hell he was going to walk into!!!
Good times!!
Indeed stories like that should make it into the baby books. ;)
oh man. wow. just wow.
xo
Well, Joyce. It could be worse. Whenever I get into a messy poo situation I always remind myself that it could be worse...you could be working in an seniors care home and it could be geezer poo. I'm sure there's been more than one senile brown bear out there.
(In response to your previous comment...don't be silly. Do you really think I'm short of bags in this house? I get it when I get it.)
oh, but it HAS been worse! I did work in a geezer home and that is some wicked stuff when itès been slow cooking in the colon for 80 years and then texture painted on the bedrails...
oh those dear bedrails
tricky tricky things to clean
lots of sweet treats there.
What would us mamas talk about if poop wasn't so funny.
You are a brave, brave woman. But if I had to choose, better a baby than an old man.
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