While my oldest was babysitting for us last night, I received a panicked phone call. Gabe had pooped in his pull-up and they didn’t know what to do. My answer?
Wipe his butt!
They were appalled and offended that I would even think such a thing. So after trying to talk the oldest two kids through the process of changing a poopy diaper, VIA TELEPHONE, I finally had to hop in the car and drive home to find my 3 year old standing naked in a bath tub full of poo-poo chunks. My brave six year old was the only one of my children willing to go the extra mile. He was picking up the chunks with baby wipes.
He’s getting a really big birthday present this year!
I immediately wiped up and washed off my traumatized three year old, tucked him into bed and raced back to church to finish our meeting and pick up hubby.
We won’t even go into the reasons why I was the designated poo-poo-problem-solver and not hubby.
Another post, another day!
So when Gabe crawled into our bed at 3am this morning with a bad dream, I thought nothing of it.
But this morning when I rolled out of bed I asked him what his bad dream was about.
He said, “I dreamed there was ants in my crack.”
The poor kid is gonna need therapy, now. Dang-it!