One day last week I woke to the sounds of birds chirping outside my window. If you’re a parent, you know this means the planets aligned and we slept in.
Then my blissful wakeup was snuffed out with screaming coming from my daughter’s room. Something about pooping in the pants. I’d say something clever here about punching in for work, but I never really punch out, so…
I grabbed Jack, who of course had just fallen back to sleep, and headed to her room.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I went poop in my pants.”
“Okay. Let’s go potty.”
I set Jack on the floor and headed to the bathroom with Layla. As she sat on the toilet I said, “okay stay here I’m going to make sure Jack is okay.”
I don’t know why I thought for one second that my toddler would actually listen to me. I’ll blame it on the fact that there was zero caffeine coursing through my veins at the time.
Jack was fine, but when I turned to look back in the bathroom, I saw Layla slowly sliding off of the toilet seat. Great. A total mudslide.
As I started to clean her up, Jack started bombing towards us on all fours like I was holding a piece of pie in my hand. The smart thing to do would have been to put him in the crib, but again, I’ll blame it on lack of caffeine.
So there I was, struggling to keep Jack at bay with just my leg, and cleaning poop off the toilet seat before he gets to it and I have a bigger problem on my hands. I was pantless and struggling to see without my glasses. Everything looked like a big, blurry, brown mess. It was a scene from one of those parent commercials on TV. The ones where the parents are running around in complete kid chaos, but at the end of the night get to enjoy a good cup of coffee. How could we have been in complete meltdown mode within the first 10 minutes of the morning?
So I started a bath.
“I DON’T WANT TO HAVE A BATH!” screamed Layla.
“You have to have a bath; you’re covered in poo.”
“I DON’T WANT TO!!!!!!”
“I DON’T WANT TO! NO! NO! AGHHHHH!!! I WANT DADDY!”
“Daddy is at work.”
And there it was.
Now in addition to being a janitor, chef, teacher, chauffeur, toy mechanic, hairdresser and personal assistant, I am officially a Mean Mommy too.
I know what a lot of you are thinking, oh Angela you take it too seriously, she doesn’t really think you’re mean. But I do. I predicted a long time ago, even before I had kids that I would be the drill sergeant and Shawn would be the softy. Now here we are.
Shawn will say that he’s not a softy, and maybe he’s right. He’s never really been given a chance to be a hardass since I’m with the kids most of the day. He comes home and it’s play, bath and then bed.
Obviously I know that Layla loves me. But it’s hard to hear that I’m mean after all the things I do for her. I was literally holding her poop in my hand when she said it.
Any other “mean” Mommies or Daddies out there that can commiserate?