Big LOVES to take baths. He would seriously take one twice a day if I allowed it. Tonight he asked to play with his submarine, so we filled the tub with tons of toys and bubbles. He was having a blast... Then he got that "oh crap!" Look on his face.
When questioned, he said, "I need to go potty!" I went to help him out if the tub and he says, "Mommy, you need to get it." Huh? Get what? Then like a slow-mo picture show... I realized it was too late. The trout has already jumped into the water. I looked at Big and said, "Did you already go?" I couldn't see because of the massive amount of bubbles. I prayed that I was wrong.
Then he put his little fingers reallllly close together and told me "just a little one, Mommy." Oh. My. God. If there is poo in the tub, I'm pretty damn sure size of the turd is the least of my worries.
Of course, Daddy "suddenly" needed something downstairs. Likely brain bleach. Can't say I blame him.
Happy Friday to me! Nothing says you're fully inducted into parenthood like cleaning excrement from the spa tub on a Friday night. Bring on the Jack. Or Evan or box o'wine. And Vicodin. Possibly Xanax. Mixing those will surely cause a blackout of this memory, right?
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