Bet this doesn’t happen at the St. Regis

File this under, “Don’t you wish you were me?” or maybe “It is a DAMN good thing he’s cute!” or maybe, just maybe, “I bet this doesn’t happen at the St. Regis.”

I had just finished doing a little exercise, during which the kiddos were mesmerized by Dora left me peacefully alone. 

Suddenly, Delaney comes running into the room, doing her bet imitation of a pint sized drama queen and yells, “The Boogie man is coming!” My quick-thinking mommy brain tells me that the ‘boogie man’ is likely blond, also pint sized, and has probably picked his nose. (At least he lets you know and doesn’t just wipe it on the furniture, right?)

Well, I was right about the culprit, but wrong – dead wrong – gagging wrong – about the infraction.  When the little blond one came around the corner with his right hand in the air (as is normal for displaying a ‘present’ from his nose) it was not, and I repeat NOT something from his nose that covered his hand.  Can you see where I’m going? (This is where the ‘don’t you wish you were me?’ comes in)

When I looked at his hand, and it was, in fact, COVERED – I squealed, as only a Mommy confronted with this type of disaster can squeal, “WHAT IS THAT?”  The little guy twists his hand back and forth..making sure the light is catching the disaster at every angle, and calmly says, “Poop.”  Sure as shit.  No pun intended.

By the time I got him to the wipes, I was gagging.  Friends, I actually vomited.  Me – the mommy with the strong stomach – me, the mommy who has been vomited ON, who has wiped the bottoms of babies with Rotavirus (if you’ve experienced it, you KNOW the smell.  If you haven’t – imagine the worst smell ever) I couldn’t handle the visual of the poop on his HAND for heaven’s sake, combined with the smell.  I used 24 wipes – and dug it out from under his nails – don’t be jealous.  I plopped him in the bath tub and scrubbed him down.  Repeatedly.  Scrub. Rinse. Repeat. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat. 

I found myself saying things like, “Buddy, we don’t play with our poop!” and “Repeat after me: Mommy.  I will not put my hands in poop ever again.”

It is a good thing he is cute.  And clean.  Or I might not eve be able to rid myself of the visual.

Now that I have lost my banana breakfast and am fairly certain I might not ever be able to stomach eating again….I must explain one last thing. The tag, “I bet this doesn’t happen at the St. Regis” is because my dear, sweet, lovely husband is on vacation a work trip at a cheap hotelthe St. Regis in Aspen.  Clearly, the down comforters, the snowmobiling, the glasses of wine while taking in the view (Aspen is ugly, right?) don’t compare to the fun I am having.  Wouldn’t you agree?