Monday, June 3, 2013


I wasn't anticipating being one of those. One of those mommy bloggers that feels compelled to write about her child's every ache, pain, and bowel movement. Ok, I'm still not one of those but I guess when something like Saturday morning happens, a pregnant fat chick has to vent a little. I do what I want. Except, I had actually wanted to title this post "sh*tshow" but I thought that skirted a little more into the inappropriate than I should venture.

All I can say, without revealing details reserved only for my mom and siblings (to whom I recounted in blow-by-blow format) is that, had Jordan performed this tutorial in fecal abstract art with her macabre my-crib/body-is-my-canvas approach on a weekday when there was no one about to help me with the aftermath, I would have pulled a Jordan-in-trouble, hid under the table, and pretended nothing had happened. Lucky for Sean, Jordan timed her Jackson Pollock-esque debut for bright and early Saturday morning.

My keen and astute instincts tell me that Saturday morning may have been linked to Friday morning. On Friday morning, out of the clearest blue sky, I was walking Jordan up to her sitter's when she paused, upchucked her breakfast of fresh cherries on the pathway, turned a half-step so that my skirt could share in the path's unfortunate fate, then proceeded to greet her friends in her signature "haaaaaaayyyy! hiiiii!" manner. No sweat. First time throwing up in her whole life, and I'm the one squawking and flapping about like a rooster on crack. Jordan was just kind of like "well that was weird" and I was "aaa!? are you ok? what's wrong?! answer me!"

I didn't go to work on Friday (save for a couple of hours when Jordan took a nap and my sister watched her) and despite my hovering prowess, Jordan displayed no further symptoms. Until.

Saturday morning. Jordan started whining around 8:30 like she was super annoyed about something. Sean went in to greet her with a signature "Good MOOOR-" interrupted by machine gun "Jess! Jess! Jess! Jess! Jess! Jess!" (I'm gonna go out on a limb here and just state that he needs to work on bad news delivery.) Jordan was understandably upset that the contents of what rightfully should have been split up into seven diapers was in her hair, on her favorite Dr. Suess blanket (that one is no longer with us...that sucker used to be white, but now...), on several board books, on every slat in her crib, and in her eyebrows. Honestly, I was defeated as soon as I walked in the room. The only words I could summon were slow, defeated, whimpering "Oh no.... oh no..... oh no....."'s on repeat for pretty much the duration of clean-up.

A little teamwork, a lot of breath-holding, a literal hose-down, bath and shower (in which Sean used two different types of body washes, because he said that would make her cleaner?) and much disgusting laundry later, and Jordan seems to be juuuust fine. Proud even. I relayed the events to my family in person as we descended upon them to use their laundry machine, and my brother quipped "Was she just in a shitty mood?" and I'm sorry for the language, but that was the first lip-twitch I had produced all day and I can't help but share the type of humor I appreciate.

Apologies for the wordy, pictureless post but, given the content, do you really want to see? I'll show you instead how we punished Jordan for her crappy endeavors:

Sand Prison. Inescapable - mwah ah ah ah ah

The rest of our weekend went smoothly. We actually did some other fun things aside from our beach excursion above. Perhaps I'll tell you about it sometime. Tomorrow shall we say? Happy Monday. (<----- cruelest oxymoron ever invented.)


  1. Deepest sympathies. My daughter has not - so far - been a blower-outer, although I'm sure it'll come someday.

    1. Oh I hope this kind of nasty never happens to you. I wish this fate for no one. Soooo gnarly.