It's a lot.
Like, overflowing-in-the-car-seat-and-dripping-on-the-carpet-as-we-rush-him-to-the-tub a lot.
|Don't be fooled by his snugly wiles - he's literally full of ****|
Five minutes, three wet wipes, 14 squirts of cleaner, and two rags later, I sat down with Micah to enjoy an episode of TNG and my much awaited chocolate Oreo milkshake (yes, if you ask they make the Oreo milkshake with chocolate ice cream). I had told my brother earlier that day how I hadn't consumed a milkshake in a while and had been avoiding my favorite treat, but after the day's hike I thought it was well deserved.
Then I spilled it.
I think I thought about crying for a second. Another moderately viscous (though normally highly viscous, it had been waiting 20+ minutes for me by now) semi-fluid on the carpet. But this one stung. I had spilled it and nothing I could do would bring it back and consume the delicious.
I was so distraught that Micah took the repeat round of rag-on-rug rubbing and I realized something important as I mourned my milkshake mishap:
Poop piling up doesn't really make life worse; losing the milkshakes does really make life worse. It's because poop can be disposed of and always is with a little effort, but milkshakes were meant to be enjoyed and, once lost, are impossible to recover and practically irreplaceable.
|James likes when his mom reads to him :-)|
And yeah, even if he's got poop literally coming out of his pants, I love my little buddy.
If you commented with your best/worst poop and/or milkshake story, I'd be down with it.