Twice and a Blue Moon

Like Fight Club (where the first rule is to not talk about Fight Club), Mom Club has a cardinal rule. First rule of Mom Club: You do not brag about your child on the Internet.  Second Rule of Mom Club: YOU DO NOT BRAG ABOUT YOUR CHILD ON THE INTERNET.

There is one simple reason why. It’s not that your friends and family don’t love hearing about all of the new advances your tiny little human is making. I’m sure they do (and the ones that don’t have already unfollowed you!) But with each brag also comes a universal spin of the chamber. The moment that you click “submit” on any comment, DM, Blog, Tweet or SnapChat you are setting wheels in motion. And those wheels are going to run right over you and make you eat your words. You do not brag about your child on the internet because the moment you do the universe will make you sooooorrrryyyyy.

Some people might say it’s a jinx.  You might find yourself knocking on wood as you tell the world how everyone in your house is FINALLY over the string of colds that have hit…and then you’ll be telling yourself to shut the eff up next time as you deal with a stomach flu that makes it’s entry the very next afternoon. You may knock on wood or cross your fingers as you say it but in the end the first rule of Mom Club was still violated. Little Timmy hasn’t had an accident in 6 months? Great to read. You’ll be changing sheets at 3am.  Jakey has been eating his dinner without complaint? Cool beans but check him at the next meal when he says he isn’t hungry and then asks for a PB&J 30 minutes later. Sally has finally started sleeping through the night?  Awesome-sauce! Except  she’ll be waking every 45 minutes for the next week.   Why is the universe so cruel? I don’t know. I don’t make the rules people. And just like everyone else I am not immune to repercussions of violating this rule. Which was proven to me once again after I broke the rule that I swear I have known and acknowledge for the better part of my tenure as a mother. And I paid. Oh yes – did I pay.

I’d been living the high life after having successfully potty trained our youngest. I threw up my internet fist bump and blogged about being out of diapers.  I then linked to that blog on my facebook page. And tweeted the link. And pretty much did exactly what I am warning you all not to do. When I woke up the next morning morning I had a sense that things were going to go wrong.  I’d been woken up by the newly potty trained preschooler bright and early because he had to take his 5am poop and while he likes to believe he can manage that process himself from start to finish I know differently. After making sure he was clean, his hands were clean, I was clean, the bathroom was not disgusting  clean, I managed to fall back into semisleep until my alarm clock went off at 630. I drug myself out to make a cup my morning coffee and this happened:

Maybe it’s nothing to most people but when my coffee, my life juice, the only thing I look forward to in life before 7am comes out full of grounds is just simply not an auspicious start to the day. So much so that I felt compelled to snap this picture.  I’m thinking if there is such a thing as “coffee grounds readings” that this cup was saying “BE WARNED FOR YOU ARE ABOUT TO PAY DEARLY.” The day continued to progress into trouble town as we had an especially rough time getting out of the house on time to get my boys to their respective schools followed by a Texas sized meltdown because I dared carry my 3 year old into the street to put him in his carseat instead of letting him dart out into traffic by himself. That is an #AssholeMom move in many toddler files dontchaknow.  A few uneventful hours followed and then I picked up my boys, again from their respective schools and headed home. After some play and a snack it was naptime – aka Mama’s netflix and legit for real no hidden meaning chill time. With all quiet in the house I grabbed some lunch and sat down to watch Anne with an E. Dream Big! Every so often I would pull up our baby cams and take a peak at my two children. As I watched my guilty pleasure and ate I again checked their cameras only to  realize that my 3 year old was NOT in his room. I hurried back to locate him and heard a little voice coming from the bathroom located inside my bedroom. I rushed in to find him sitting on the potty. He had drug his step stool in and it was sitting at his feet. Very proudly he announced that he had pooped! But there was a problem. While his backside was coated in a thick schmere of excrement and there was a poo trail leading down the side of the stool, there was nothing in the toilet.

My mind started racing. As I hollered out, “DO NOT MOVE” to my smelly suspect I doubled back to check the other bathroom and as soon as I hit the hallway I was assaulted by the strong odor. I peaked in to the second bathroom only to see a scene so disturbing it could have come right out of American Horror Story.  There on the toilet seat was his blue potty chair covered in poo.  It appeared he had tried to wipe himself up as was evident by the stack of poop covered wipes in the trashcan.  Little poop balls and little poop smears littered the tiles surrounding the toilet. I think I made out a “I was HERE 2017” in poopcriment.  It was nothing less than poop-pocalypse.

Full panic mode had set in.  I rushed back to clean him first. Ultimately I realized I had no choice but to hose him down so into the shower he went. With strict orders to go to his room and get clean underwear on I moved on to the bathrooms. Just the memory of that process is enough to have me crying “uncle” (and by uncle I actually mean the Ef bomb in quick succession over and over and over and…) Many clorox wipes, 409 sprays and dry heaves later I had the mess eliminated. The memory though, the memory will live on…

Take heed friends. Don’t be like me. Don’t internet brag unless you want to risk spending your Tuesday afternoon hoarking in a bathroom covered in shit.