Mom Confession: Have Your Kids Eaten Poop? Mine Have…More than Once.

Mom Confession: Have Your Kids Eaten Poop? Mine Have...More than Once.  | mrsmommymack.com

Please don’t judge me.

Yesterday was the worst day I have ever had as a mom. It made me rethink my decision to procreate.

Let me take you back…

I had just gotten home from work and was just getting ready to relax. Kids got their kisses and hugs and ran off to play. As I stretched my weary body I said to my husband, “Isn’t it so nice now that the kids can play together alone?” Feeling like I had just jinxed myself, I peeked in their room. Adorable playing was taking place and my heart felt like mush. How precious! What cherubs!

About 3.5 minutes later, all hell broke loose.

I sat back in the living room and heard my son shut the bedroom door. I should have went with my gut and went back in. But I waited two minutes and opened the door to pure horror.

My son had taken off his diaper and my one year old daughter had one turd in her hand and one turd in HER MOUTH. The worst part? She was smiling.

I stood there. I froze. Bile rose in my throat as I looked at her poopy lips and my son’s poopy butt hiding in the corner.

What. The. Ever-loving FUCK.

Quickly, I leapt to action after swallowing my dinner back down. I screamed for my husband who threw the Poop Gifter in the tub as I dug my finger in the Poop Eater’s craw.

I have never gagged so hard in my life as I called Poison Control and had the most embarrassing, yet reassuring conversation take place. People sure are nice on that hotline and, apparently, unfazed by my heathen offspring.

Now that the shock has worn off, I think the most horrifying part was the gleeful expression on my daughter’s face. She liked it! What the hell have I spawned?!

You Go, Kim Kardashian!

Dear Moms,

Please put down your pitchforks.

I know the whole world has seen Kim Kardashian’s #breaktheinternet photo shoot. All I can say is I am happy for her.

After hearing radio DJs this morning slamming her for being an irresponsible mother, I got pissed. If you are a mom, you know the struggle of body image after kids. I have seen Kim on her show cry over what her little girl has done to her body. Haven’t we all been there, moms? At the hospital after my second child I cried naked in the bathroom for a half an hour looking at the war zone that was my body. I threw in the towel on dreams of bikinis and just embraced Spanx and moved on, sadly.

I would give a king’s ransom to have a glistening body on the cover of a magazine. Look at how proud she is? Why would you ruin this for her?

I mean, I initially wanted to smother her with her shimmering butt cheeks and yell from the rooftops how outraged I was at the audacity. How could she?! But, we shouldn’t be jealous. We should be happy that people like Kim are keeping moms “hot.” We don’t have to chop our hair off and hide under Mickey Mouse sweatshirts!

But what will her daughter do when she is old enough to stumble across these photos? Well, hopefully, her parents will explain that this is a human body and everyone has one and you should never be ashamed.

Well, that’s my two cents.

But, really, relax.

Ashley

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Dizzy Castle

We have been in the Portland area for two weeks. Other than: staring at the umpteen boxes we have yet to unpack, rolling around on a deflating air mattress, and taking two trips to the complex indoor pool, we haven’t done much and, yesterday, I realized if I didn’t take the kids out to burn some energy off they might internally combust.

So, I took to the internet and discovered many area moms raving about a local indoor playground called Dizzy Castle. I decided this would be an inexpensive way to calm them. We packed up early and headed out.

We arrived completely underprepared. Both my husband and I were wearing flip-flops and did not realize that we not only needed socks but workout fatigues and an hourlong warm-up beforehand. We settled for purchasing some chintzy, too small “socks” from the counter and headed in.

The plan was to eat at the little food court prior to heading into battle, but my son had another idea. He ripped off his shoes and headed in. Thankfully, he was a little overwhelmed by the colors, swinging punching bags and sweaty children that he stuck close by. I quickly ran and ordered some food and sat back thinking I would relax, watch him run himself ragged and head home.

Wrong.

I was able to put off the inevitable by haranguing said two year old back to the table with a pirate ship filled with grilled cheese and potato chips. After a few bites, he was off again with potato chip in hand. This time, his fuel gauge was full and he was much more brazen. Considering most of the children were much older than him, I decided to follow him in. We played with some foam balls for a considerable amount of time before I saw his poop face. I tried to keep his public display a little more private, but he stood directly in front of the entrance with a purple vein throbbing in his forehead while he worked out his #2. I quickly shuffled him back to Dad for a run to the men’s room and took my daughter into the toddler area. We sat quietly while she crawled around with sweet little babies and we all cooed and laughed jovially while relaxing on the bright red mats.

Before my inevitable demise.

About a half an hour later, my husband and son returned. My husband looked like he just completed an entire month of P90X and my son looked crazed like he was hopped up on jungle gym. Between gasps for air my husband said, “I just went down the slide 11 times. It’s your turn.”

Being the show-off I am, I thought: How dramatic. 

I was so wrong.

I quickly learned that the slide entrance wasn’t merely a set of stairs. The first step to get to the top was army crawling up a set of foam logs. Mind you, I have never army crawled in my life. As children piled up behind me waiting for me to lug my frame up the logs, I felt horrified. Thankfully, my toddler wasn’t quite that quick either. At the top of the logs, you needed to squeeze through a two-foot by two-foot hole. Not only was I horrified that I might not fit through this hole, I also felt claustrophobia clutching my insides. Since there were about forty sweaty children behind me, there was no turning back. I pushed my breasts in and wedged through the hole. Much to my dismay, there was another whole set of Logs of Death. I was more motivated this time as I could see the top. I could see the end in sight and was looking forward to feeling like I wasn’t in a coffin. However, once I flopped on the platform, I realized the ceiling was only two-feet tall.

This was where I stopped breathing.

My son was unfazed. He leapt on the slide and soared to the bottom. I took the next track of a slide to quickly follow him down. Due to the fact that I was wearing yoga pants, I sizzled down the slide. I started breathing for a few quick gasps, until I saw my oblivious child jump into my track. Quickly, I tried to grab the sides to stop my body from careening into my offspring. Other than getting plastic burn on my palms, nothing happened. I rocketed off the bottom of the slide, bear-hugging his little body in hopes that this wasn’t an episode of Rescue 911.

Not only was he alive. He was hysterical with happiness.

I, on the other hand, had sweat soaked through my pits, my hair was matted and I had a Charlie Horse. He still wanted to race back up the logs, but I lured him out of the building with promises of cookies and Mickey Mouse.

Next time, I will be prepared.