Yesterday, we had gotten back from our "snow" trip...I'll write about that later...and Papa Bear and I decided that the boys were sufficiently stinky to warrant an emergency bath. I got the bath ready and placed M and B inside the tub. P.B. came in to watch them and take care of their bathing needs while I got their after bath essentials together.
I was just sitting down on the couch and booting up the computer when I heard, "Julie!!! Come quick!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!" It's possible that my heart leaped out of my chest, into my throat and took a flying jump out of my mouth. A mirage of horrific images slid soundlessly through my mind. Was one of my babies drowning? Had one of them banged his head on the side of the tub and was unconscious? What had P.B. allowed to happen to my angels?
As I ran towards the bathroom, which honestly felt a mile away, I heard B giggling and M say something to P.B., I knew that there were no life-threatening injuries. So, why had P.B. beckoned me so urgently?
Upon entering the hallway bathroom, P.B. handed me a towel-clad B and said, "Take B and put him in the crib and come back for M."
"Why?" I asked, "What happened?"
"One of the boys POOPED in the tub!" P.B. proclaimed, with a desperate and horrified look on his face. I have to say that at this point, I started to smirk. Yes, this was absolutely disgusting and awful. Yes, the imagery would never leave me. Yes, this was a nightmare in grossness. Yes, yes, and yes. But, I didn't have to clean this up!!!!! They say there's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. This was my pot.
B will no longer be allowed to bathe without P.B. being home, because anyone who thinks I will be cleaning up fecal matter from a bathtub is smoking something illegal.
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