If you talk to yourself like a crazy person, horrible things will most likely happen to you. This is a cautionary tale.

*Disclaimer: If you in any way have a weak/queasy stomach, this might be a post for you to skip over.

Read on, oh brave one.

Every once in a while, as a mother, you have the distinct misfortune of having all your worst fears confirmed. Today was such a day. 

Now yesterday was Landon's birthday. Max expressed his keen displeasure at the breakfast table when he exclaimed "No, my birthday!" (which sounded more like NO, ma ote-ay) Max isn't adapting well to the fact that Landon's toys don't belong to him. 

Rough one.

Today it has been no different. So, this morning, when the air was finally clear of baby screams, I considered it an absolute blessing to have Max seated in his room, in front of his toy chest, surrounded by toys of his own and playing contentedly. (PS rule #1 of motherhood: If your children look and sound like they are being perfect angels, you are being scammed and they are either planning horrible things to do to you or in the process of acting out said plans. Don't EVER forget that.)

It all began harmlessly enough. Max sauntered into the family room to show me his toy. 

I smiled at him. 

Then my eyes widened in shock. 

"Where's your diaper?!" 

I gasped. 

"Oh, please don't be..." 

Yep, he turned around and there for everyone to see was his naked bum, covered in poop. Technically his entire back side was covered in poop; up his back, down his legs, all over his feet.

"Oh gosh, please don't sit down! Where's your diaper"

He led me down the hall to the dirty clothes where his diaper rested... EMPTY.

"Oh no! Oh no! Not the carpet..."

Yep, the carpet. Right in front of his toy chest in his room... surrounded by a dozen or more toys.

"Oh crap no!"

Oh crap yes. Yes, yes, yes. All over the toys. ALL OVER THE TOYS.

Well... 

(I have a lot of thoughts racing through my mind right now. As I type this up I feel my #1 mistake was in voicing all my fears out loud. No good can come from talking to yourself.)

I could tell you the details of what all went down next. But instead I feel it better to "summarize" the steps for future posterity (so just incase you ever find yourself in a similar situation you will know what to do when):

wet wipes

bath

more wet wipes

do some gagging

disinfect toys

coat yourself in poop

probably need more gagging

add the "well played with" toys to the bath tub

wash your hands

call you mom

scrub brush

gag a lot more (as the scrub brush will really release the scent into the air)

dish soap

scrubbing

lots of gagging

rags

more rags

gags

more gags

water

call your spouse and listen to them laugh at you

put the sordid details on the blog

tap out for the rest of the day

And there you have it. 

My mom laughed at me when I called her and asked how to get poop out of the carpet. She also informed me that she NEVER dealt with that as a mother. She had 8 kids. I told her I was trying to set the bar higher for Kami to have to try to live up to. After all, this isn't my first ticket to the poop cleanup rodeo. (I should have been a dairyman) 

Brandon began laughing at me the second I told him Max didn't have a diaper on and he only got louder the further along I got in my story. (In his defense he tried to be sympathetic. But it just came across as sheer glee at having escaped a fate as terrible as mine.) In talking to him I realized that, in fact, all my children, except Cooper, had done something similar to me. See Kami's story here. And a brief retelling of the time Landon did it here.

That might automatically bump Cooper up to favorite child status.

The End.