And Then I Stepped in Gum . . .

The Joys of Parenthood

WARNING: The following post is not for the squeamish.

Not infrequently, Dave and I play a little oneupsmanship game of "Who had to do the crappier parenting task?". You had a bad day at work? Well I had to deal with a sick and whiny child at home all day. You had to give them breakfast and clean up a spilled cup of milk? Well I had to take care of the carpet where the boy peed on it after his bath. The ultimate round thus far was when I had to spend two nights in the hospital with Ian when he was 2 weeks old, sleeping on a plastic recliner that didn't actually recline and nursing a sick, IV-attached infant every hour and a half. Dave had to take Katie, then 3.5 years old, home after only about 3 hours of sleep for all of us, and she proceeded to vomit all over her bed -- twice. He won that one. Vomit trumps almost everything.

I think I might have taken a new lead, however. Tonight Dave went out to a private showing of the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit at Mobile's science museum, the Exploreum. His company, Cassiopeia Foundation, has been involved with the exhibit, producing a video that is both showing in the museum and for sale at the gift shop. So they got to have a "friends and family" night at the museum. Unfortunately, it was adults-only and we couldn't find a sitter, so I sent Dave on alone.

Dave is the bath-giver in our household. It started as something he could do for Katie when she was little to give me a break from the primary caregiver role, and somehow Ian's baths became his responsibility too. I love the fact that I can turn the evenings over to him, and while he's a little bewildered about how it ended up that way, he doesn't complain much. Tonight was a bath night, so Dave drew the bath for the kids before leaving for the event, and I took over with hair washing and body soaping and dinner making (also typically Dave's purview).

And thus the stage was set for my parenting moment of the day. Fortunately, Katie had already gotten out of the bath and was eating her dinner; I was headed to get Ian out momentarily. "Uh-oh!" Ian called. "Uh-oh! UH-oh! UH-OH!" I came into the bathroom. "Poop!" Ian whined, pointing. Sure enough, he'd pooped in the bathtub. Gross!

My primary goals were a) not to freak out and get him upset; b) to get him out of the tub as quickly as possible; c) to get all the toys out of the water and into the sink for a bleach soaking; and d) not to let his sister find out, lest she never venture into the tub again. I think I managed to succeed on all fronts, though I have to say, this is my LEAST FAVORITE PARENTING TASK EVER! Poop in the bath is disgusting on so many levels. But I get pats on the back for not leaving it for someone else (who?) to clean up. I have Soft Scrubbed the tub to within an inch of its life. I have yet to bleach the toys, because I'm notorious for completely ruining my clothing whenever I open a bleach bottle (I may beg Dave to do this for me). Nevertheless, I got through it. Ugh!

But he so owes me.

posted by Jennifer Morgan, at 9:41 PM