Initiation

Well, it finally happened.  After 2+ years, I have finally been initiated into motherhood.

(And no, cleaning up vomit at 3am actually wasn't the initiation that I previously thought it to be.)

Allow me to explain.

In the past, I've heard some SUPER horrifying stories from my mom-friends, about their toddlers deciding to become mini-Picassos, using poop as their artistic medium.

I would inevitably (and very naively) think something along the lines of "Oh bless your heart! Thank goodness Ally Grace would NEVER do something like that to me."

Clearly, I should never say never.

Yesterday, Ally Grace took an amazingly long nap.  I mean, she was silent for THREE ENTIRE HOURS.  And I was able to fold clothes, and write a blog post, and possibly even eat my weight in peanut butter M&M's.

It was a great day.

Until it wasn't.

I go upstairs to wake her up, thinking, okay, long naps are great and all, but Mama needs to watch the Bachelor tonight. Which means girlfriend needs to go down at her normal 7:30 bedtime.

I walk into her room and immediately recoil in horror at the smell.  "Whew," I say.  "Girl, you need a diaper change STAT."  And then, "Oh look.  You're holding your hands up for me. You missed me during your nap and want a little cuddle! How sweet."  And then, "Wait, what's that on your hands? DEAR LORD, IS THAT POOP?!?!? EWWWWW!!!  KEEP THOSE DIRTY THINGS AWAY FROM ME!  And then, " UM, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN'T ACTUALLY EAT IT?!?!"


And finally, "Where exactly is John when I really need him? Cleaning up feces should so have been included in our fake, exists only in my mind marital contract."


By the way, you would be surprised at the wealth of information you can find on the Internet when you google, "If my child ate her own poop, what should I do?"

Because one day, you might just need that information.

Never say never.