“Euh, Jessica? You have to come see this. There’s something not quite right here.” M is in C’s room, changing her diaper. I hurry into her room and burst out laughing. He is looking into her diaper with a puzzled, disgusted look. It’s filled with a fascinating shade of bright green poop. For a minute I’m perplexed. C is humming to herself and doesn’t look to be in the slightest bit of distress, so clearly this interesting development isn’t health related. Then I remember yesterday’s cake, so pretty with all it’s blue icing and I laugh even harder.
“It’s the icing! The icing from yesterday’s cake. The food coloring is what’s turning her poop green.” Rather than being reassured M looks even more disgusted now that I’ve cleared up the mystery, and leaves me to clean up the mess in her diaper. As he walks away he can’t help but look back one last time.
“Seriously, if that weren’t so gross you’d have to take a picture and post it on your blog.”
“Nah, my mom gets mad at me when I write about poop.”
Later that day, after a fun afternoon at the beach with friends, we stopped at a burger joint to refuel the troops before heading home over Hwy 17. Little L slept in the sling through most of dinner, for once rousing herself after I’d managed to eat my dinner. (Did you know that burgers taste so much better hot?) I grabbed the two jars of baby food that I’d brought along for her and got her all set up. She was starving and she hungrily opened up wide for mouthful after mouthful of garden vegetable yumminess. Once she’d eaten every last spoonful of the green stuff we moved on to the strained pears, which she gobbled up until she started getting full. She turned her head away and started to squirm. I tried to get a last spoonful into her and instantly regretted it. She made that telltale sound that all kids make before starting to spew; half strangled burp and half gurgle. And then she opened her mouth and every ounce that I’d just spooned in came pouring right out. I managed to put my hand under her mouth just in time, but it quickly became apparent that one hand just wasn’t going to cut it.
“Plate! Bowl! Basket! Whatever! Help, I need help here!” My cries alerted M to my predicament and he tried desperately to shove a plastic plate under my hand, but the table and my arm kept getting in the way. Finally, seconds before my hand overflowed he managed to get the plate in place, saving us all from a smelly ride home. The waitress ran over to help us as I comforted my fussy baby, hoping against hope that I’d have enough milk to keep her satiated until we got home; she’d just thrown up the only food I brought for her.
I handed the baby to M, headed for the bathroom to clean up, and vowed that tomorrow no one was eating anything green.
I probably wouldn’t have written about either event, but clearly today was all about my children showing off their disgusting bodily functions and who am I to fight blog fate? Two such events in one day screams “blog me!” And so I did. You’re welcome. No, no, don’t thank me. (Sorry mom.)