I keep a baby monitor in the kid's room, because I'm a paranoid parent. We bought the fancy one, that can have multiple cameras, can work as a walkie talkie, play lullabies, tells us the temperature, all that jazz. This morning over our overpriced baby monitor I hear Ari screaming that Jace took off his diaper. If you read my last entry, you know that it is potty training madness over here, so that news sent me sprinting. In that two second span Aria announced the unfortunate news that Jace had also pooped. I could smell the horror before I saw it.
In the middle of their floor was a diaper, luckily sitting inside up, a good six feet from Jason's crib. He was standing in all his poop-war-paint glory looking very, very smug. "I want potty, Mom!" he said as I stood in shock, picking my plan of attack. Under the armpit grab, dodging nasty hands and running for the tub. Jace loves water, but he is not a huge bath fan. One drop of water on his face and he's completely over it. I can spray him in the face with a spray bottle, dunk him in the ocean, and stick him straight under the shower, but no baths. I spent the entire time trying to convince Aria that she didn't want to take a bath with her brother, and trying to convince Jace that he does want to take a bath at all.
I think I'm going to be one of those Moms who has to Duct tape diapers onto their children at night. I don't really want to gag my way through decontaminating an entire crib on a regular basis. How many people do that and just don't admit it to their friends?
I'm convinced that every blog post I write is going to have to do with the bathroom at this point.
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