Poop Patrol (and my iron stomach)

**FAIR WARNING, CONTAINS POOP COMMENTARY AND ANECDOTES**

Soooo, the other day Curtis asked me if I had written any blogs lately. It warmed the cockles of my heart. I think. Because I'm not sure where that saying came from, or where my cockles are exactly. That should be a blog in itself...where do these random sayings come from?

Here I am. I think two weeks ago, I started going back to the gym. Meaning, I made it two days last week, and zero days this week. Gage has been sleeping more. And, I may be a terrible parent what with all the tequila Gage drinks these days, but I firmly believe in the importance of sleep. So, I will plan my life/day around the sleep habits of the mini monster that lives with us. So, I never wake him up. Ever. Except for this morning. More to come on that.

I explained to Curtis that I have always had the tendency to write when I am feeling something negative. It's my creative outlet for my disappointments and frustrations. And, I think the natural high of FINALLY working out (even if only a couple days at a time) was such a fix for me, that I've been riding that high for two weeks. Also, I went to see SATC 2 with a girlfriend last weekend, and we had a cookout with those same friends for Memorial Day weekend. So, I've been socialized, exercised, and something else-ized enough that I've not felt a NEED to write to feel better.

But, I have things to share. Like why I woke Gage up today. He's been sleeping great lately. Lots of naps and sleeping through the night on occasion. Last night, he woke up around 3:15, had a bottle and slept until I had to wake him up because he was sleeping in his own poo. Yes, I said that. He had pooped his diaper, it exploded out the top, and he was happily sleeping on his tummy with crap on his back. After a few minutes of debate (i am VERY dedicated to letting him sleep) and texting my mom what she thought...I woke his poopy butt up. And, thank the Lord I did. It was worse than I thought.

He had poop dried to his back and side. His shirt was ruined, and his sheets were spotless. Guess he hadn't rolled over from his tummy since he pooped, so it was all "contained" to his backside. I took him straight to the tub of soapy bath water I ran before I got him, and I had to scrub the poop off. Yep. And, now my iron stomach that has always been able to handle anything nauseating has truly earned an award.

On the flipside, my mom use to listen from downstairs while I threw up in the bathroom and yell "are you ok?" between barfs. To her credit, this was only after the age of 12. Curtis has thrown up on the toilet lid, on my kitchen counter, on the side of my car. And, guess who cleans it up? Not Curtis. Guess who comes to take care of me when I throw up...not Curtis. Any time I throw up, I am on my own.

So last night when Gage unexpectedly poops all over himself BEFORE bed, and I run him to the bathroom to strip and bathe him, Curtis ran the opposite direction. He DID say "tell me what to do" and then got a towel for me to lay Gage on to strip him on the bathroom floor. And, as I asked Curtis to run the bath water, I lost him. He looked at Gage, looked at me, and went to the living room saying "this bathroom's not big enough for all this". Meanwhile, I am wrestling Gage who doesn't know (or doesn't care) that he's rolling in poop and it's in his hair because he bucked when I tried to pull the onsie over his head. I ran after Curtis and asked a poignant question "Why the hell did you have kids? THEY POOP!"

I washed Gage, put his diaper on, and made Curtis hold him til bedtime. Curtis didn't trust Gage. I guess it's true: Never trust a fart.