Someone needs to hire a camera crew to hang out at my house. My Mama and I went out last night to do a little shopping with Lake. We stopped by the DQ on the way home for a Royal Treat. Lake must've decided to take a poo while we were en route, which is typically no big deal.
Once home we began unloading groceries. My hands were full with packages, I was attempting to wrangle the dog, plus trying to balance my Peanut Buster Parfait, so I asked John if he could get Lake out of his carseat and change his diaper.
I hadn't realized the little guy had blown out his diaper. Literally. Poo was everywhere. Up his back. Down his legs. In the carseat. How can one little baby make such a mess? I've often heard of these infamous poopies. The ones that come out of nowhere and manage to stick to the walls. Or the ceiling. Or your pants. I knew we'd experience one of those poos someday. Yesterday was that day.
I started laughing. John was holding up his legs, Mom was trying to wipe his bottom, and Jack was busily licking the poo out of the car seat. I couldn't do anything but laugh. Hysterically. While I was trying to shoo Jack out of the carseat (so I could start wiping it up with my napkin), John saw me holding my Peanut Buster Parfait spoon in my hand. The same hand that had just cleaned up the poo now held the napkin and the spoon. He said, "Nice work honey. I'm glad to see you are using your spoon to assist you in your cleaning efforts." He followed that up with, "I have some extra fudge over here if you need it."
No thank you! In fact, my Peanut Buster Parfait is still in the freezer, untouched. I'd had enough fudge for one day. You may not want to kiss Jackson Cooper, either. We all know where his mouth has been.
Where is that camera crew when you need them?
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