Something happened tonight that had blog material written all over it. I just have to share it with you.
Earlier, during bath time, my husband had taken our youngest daughter out of the bath and was getting her dressed for bed. He heard our older daughter shout from the bathtub “Daddy, I need to get out!” It’s not unusual for her to announce loudly that she wants to get out, so he simply told her to wait.
The urgency increased. “I need to get out!” Again, he asked her to wait.
Finally, we heard “The poos are coming!” At this point, I stopped what I was doing in the kitchen and walked as quickly as a woman recovering from major surgery can to the bathroom where I heard my husband say “Oh, the poos already came.” I thought this meant they were floaties in the bathtub, which I’m grateful isn’t a regular occurence in our home.
No, it didn’t mean floaties. There was a deposit on the bathroom rug. By this time he had already lifted her onto the toilet so she could take care of the rest of her business. He took care of the little gift and life went on.
Fastforward about 15 minutes.
We’re all in the living room, the girls are doing some colouring and husband and I are sitting next to them, reading some blogs together (Isn’t that precious?). I start to sniff. There is a definite odour and it’s not a pleasant one. I start sniffing around, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. I tell my husband that I can still smell poo. He sniffs all around, trying to find it and discovers that the smell keeps following him. Much to his disgust, he discovers little remnants of poo on his shirt. He quickly gets up and starts to pull off his shirt while walking to the bedroom to get a clean one.
Now, think about how you remove a shirt. You lift up the bottom and pull it over your head, right? Of course, this requires the front of your shirt to go directly past your face. And of course the front of his shirt in the part that houses the offending odour. When he realised what was about to happen, he halted mid-strip, and with a look of extreme disgust and distaste he wadded up his shirt in an effort to contain any smelly bits and then gingerly removed his shirt. When he got his shirt off, I was laughing. A lot. He looked at me and said “There has got to be blog material in this somewhere!” Indeed there is.