These past couple of days I've been scrambling around to get everything all set for our trip to Florida. Oliver has decided he doesn't want to go to bed anymore, and also that he must use a fork to eat everything. Even Cheerios. And apple sauce. It doesn't work out nearly as well as he pictures it in his head.
I don't know how we're going to lug all of this junk to the airport We have our suitcases, our carry on, the diaper bag, stroller, and car seat to figure out. Plus, of course, Oliver.
He won't let us carry him. He won't ride in the stroller. He insists on walking, but his tiny legs just can't keep up with us. Worse still, he momentarily "forgets" the rule about staying close to us and chases after strangers, store displays, vending machines... It gets to be a lot of work. And as much as I hate the idea and refuse to become one of them, I'm starting to understand the people who leash their children. Just a weee tiny bit. Maybe.
Instead, I try not to think about the airport and choose to focus on the tasks at hand.
I was taking down our Christmas tree and running loads of laundry when I kept noticing a distinctly fecal odor. Oliver had a massive poop explosion this morning which had gotten on his back, legs, feet, and clothing. He was an obvious first suspect. I sniffed him, but he was clear. In a moment of paranoia, I started to sniff myself and my clothes, but I was clean. I decided it was all in my head (as is sometimes the case) and went back to my work.
After getting the last ornaments off the tree, I looked down and saw a small pine cone on the floor. I thought about it a moment, then realized... Wait a second. This tree has no pine cones.
Upon closer inspection, it was a small brown turd, forsaken in the corner under the chair. One of Oliver's favorite pooping destinations.
I asked, "Did you poop here?" Oliver violently shook his head pointed at the door and waved byebye. Like I'm supposed to believe somebody came in here last night while we were sleeping and left this neat little turd for us in the corner. Right.
Looks like Santa came early to our house. Joy.