"Toddlerhood" Part I: Snafus

I was getting ready to go in to work on Wednesday afternoon for a Perinatal Palliative Care conference that evening (which was absolutely fantastic - great job Carolanne!). I planned to go in an hour early because I had a few other things to get done in the office. Turns out, planning to go in early is the only reason I was able to get there on time...

These are the kinds of stories you tell your childless friends and they're not sure whether it's really funny or really appalling to imagine living your life. Against my better judgment, I let Susanna go down for a nap with a spill-proof (ha) cup of milk. I let my heart break for her a little when she begged to take it in the crib. It was her first nap without a bottle, after all...

When she woke up, she appeared to be sweating profusely. But it wasn't 95 degrees out anymore...how could...oh no! Susanna, did you wash your hair with milk?? "I wash-a hair milk, Mommy!"

We had to go straight into the tub in the middle of the day. I let her play for a while, and again, gave into her begging for a little more time. A little more time during which she called out "Mommy, I poop again!"

Poop in the tub. I know it happens to every parent. I knew it would come. Of course not in the evening when tub time is leisurely; when I was already running late. Murphy's Law of poop.

So, we cleaned the tub and the toys while Susanna stood and shivered (thank heavens Ma-Maw was here to babysit already or it would have taken much longer). Then, a second bath.

I made it to work just in time for the start of the conference. Whew. After I got home around 10 pm, Jon and I were lounging on the couch, exhausted. As I ran my fingers through my hair I felt something sticky (not that that's all that unusual). Hmmm...what is this? Earlier in the day we'd been to the grocery store and the friendly cashier had offered Susanna a sticker to which she'd politely replied "NO!!!". So the sticker (which was a photo of a quarter - you know, the coin) was slapped onto my shirt and off we went with our meltdown. At some point in time, it migrated to my hair. I'm not sure which is more embarassing...spending 5 hours with colleagues and meeting new people with a quarter sticker on the front of my shirt, or with it in my hair.