Hey Laundry, Eat Sh*t.

WHY LAUNDRY IS RUINING MY LIFE: Reason #1389

So I'm in the basement this morning, sorting some laundry, when I hear, "HAVE A POOP! GONNA CLEAN IT UP??"

This, of course, is James, my 2 year old son, calling out to me, his buttwiping minion.

I think, No biggie... the kid can wait a minute while I sort his jammies. (Once I'm in the Laundry Groove, I have to ride it out or it will never get done, as the Groove only strikes a few times a year.)

Well, because I'm blogging about this, you can probably assume that I was hella wrong.

I take my sweet time coming upstairs and see that James has thrown his soiled (aka shitty) diaper on the floor. Also, I see that the diaper is open, and its contents have rolled onto the rug, in dangerous proximity to my ever-curious 10 month old daughter, Cece.

Cece is looking at the diaper. James is looking at Cece. I'm looking at my newly shampooed rug.

I collect the diaper and the small round poop balls from the rug. As I'm flushing the little turds down the toilet, it hits me: Cece probably touched it.

I run (ok, walk) back to the living room and direct my question to James, as if he's the babysitter: "Did Cece touch it? DID SHE?"

Silence.

I try Cece: "DID YOU TOUCH THE POOP?"

Again, nothing.

I uncurl her clenched fist, revealing three tiny turd treasures. Oh, and then I notice that she's chewing something.

I'll bet you know what that something is, don't you?

I stick my (unwashed) finger into her mouth, and to both my relief and horror, I can't find anything. That means one of two things happened: one) she was fake chewing to scare me, or two) she swallowed her brother's poop before I could get it out.

Because I'm negligent enough to need it a great mom, I have the poison control phone number stuck to the back of my cordless phone. I called, and the guy who answered (who sounded exactly like the guy I talked to last time) assured me
told me, in monotone, that she's probably fine. The lack of urgency in this man's voice tells me that he does not have, or know, any kids worth worrying about.

Moral of the story? This is Laundry's fault, so for the welfare of my children, I should never sort, wash, dry, fold, or put away laundry ever again!