Hip (Hip Hooray! It's OK! ((we think))

Anybody with a four year old, particularly a four year old on the very top of the growth chart knows, growing pains a very real thing. It will take your happy go lucky little guy or gal and turn them into a screamy little thing that Ibuprofen and snuggles can hardly alleviate. Then BAM. It's gone as fast as it started.

According to KidsHealth.org, the average four year old boy is 40 lbs and about 40 inches tall. E2 is 49 lbs and according to the doctor's office, right at 47 inches tall. He has grown two and half inches in five months. If you do the math, he's growing at a rate of an eight of an inch PER WEEK.

A Big Old Handful

I can't make this stuff up. 

Today is not trash day. Tomorrow is trash day. I thought that I would be a good little housewife today and clean the trash from the garage to make Husband Dearest happy, then drag all the trash out to the curb tonight, instead of scrambling to get it done in the morning. While I was dragging things out to the curb, I could hear little E3 screeching inside the house. Not a screech of pain, but his very discernible "I'm pissed!" screech. I did not hurry. As I was about to pick up all the little pieces of junk the big dogs had shredded and strewn about the garage, E2 opens the door, "Mama, E3 is stuck." Sigh. E3 has recently learned how to climb unsecured drawers in the kitchen. There's only three or four drawers and they have all of the kid cups in them or are empty. The boys love to play with them and it keeps me from needing to get E2 a cup every. single. time. he's sssssooooo ttttthhiirrssttyyy. 

When I reentered the house, leaving all the bits and pieces of trash around the garage, I saw he was definitely stuck. E3 had climbed into the bottom drawer, then pulled the next drawer open over the top of him. He did the same thing the day prior, only he flipped out and smushed his face on the hardwood floor giving him Baby's First Bloody Nose. 

After disengaging Baby Climbs A Lot, I tried to go back to my trash pick up duty. "Mama, I have to poop," a deadpanned four year old snuck in front of me, just to make me very aware of his bodily function necessities. He then turned and walked to the bathroom. 

I just stood there, shaking my head. My daily conversations have changed a lot since I went to working only part time. E3 shot through the living room, tailing brother. At least I'm not the only person that doesn't get to poop in peace. 

FINALLY I could at least replace the trash bag in the kitchen. Just as I'm shaking the bag to put it in the can my sweet, darling little E2 yells from the shitter, "Moooom, he's going to touch the poop!"

WHAT. 

HOW can a BABY touch POOP IN the toilet? 

I ran. But not fast enough. "Mooom he's holding the poooooop!"

He was holding the poop. E2 stood up to wipe his butt (yay he's wiping his own ass! That's a big hairy deal!) as he hasn't mastered the lean technique yet. In doing so, he left the pot open for the unleashing of ninja moves from our 10 month old angel baby E3.  

When I skid into the bathroom, E3 was bringing his hand out of the toilet with a nice, big chunk of poop smashed in his tiny little fist. 

Now get on my level. Slow things down a bit. Let's give this image that special effect 3D image of zoom. He's bringing his hand to his face, he's opening his mouth... 

NOOOOO!

He stopped just as I smacked his hand down, making him cry and throwing half the turd back into the toilet, half onto the tile. I saved him. I saved me. No poop was consumed. 

I scooped little E3 up and immediately thrust his hands under the sink to scrub. I'm flustered, to say the least. As I'm scrubbing his little poop scoops, I hear the door open. Husband's home. "Court, did you miss the trash!? The trash is still out!? And you didn't pick up the garage..."

S#*t Happens

Today I took E3's nine month photos. There's nothing spectacular about that statement, except, for the first time in his life I was late taking the pictures. Then he was grumpy and wouldn't cooperate to show off his newest skills. Ya know, like standing or whatever. I snapped a few pics, pulled off the stick-on monthly tie (WHY didn't I think of that!?) and wiggled him into an outfit.

A few hours later at the gym I was desperately needing to go to the bathroom. I was doing the pee-pee dance just like a potty training kid with a Big Gulp.  As I was about to pass E3 off to a friend, I felt the spread of warmth on my arm. He had shat himself. And shat himself in a big way. We follow baby-led weaning. A nine month old that mows through some berries, crackers, and an organic baby smoothie in the morning coupled with some nice long drinks off the boob really knows how to blow it out.

Before I messed my own self I hurriedly ran to the back office to change Sir Squirtsalot. You see that nice white onsie in those pictures? He (thankfully) had that on under his cords and button up as a layer of warmth shit protection. I remembered the Pinterest trick to rolling the once off the body as my friend asked how I would get it off of him. Mid process someone else said I should cut it off. Before he finished talking I was reaching for the shears.

That's right, ya'll. E3 shit himself so bad I had to use the Jaws of Life to free him.  Thankfully, I was able to make it to the bathroom without the same happening to me.

Later this afternoon my dear friend JMoo and her darling Kherbear came to play. I told 'Moo all about how close he was to walking on his own, but he was rather stubborn about it. After they left I realized I had missed my afternoon constitutional.

I have this gorgeous, big master bathroom that I can really enjoy a good poop in. Also, since I poop with an audience on the daily, it's got great space. This time, no exception. E3 came squealing in and ripped open one of the unsecured drawers. He loves to find goodies (pull out all my lady products) and toss them about. Right in the middle of me... well, pooping, I see E3 crawl halfway between the drawer to the toilet room in the master bath suite. He then took a football stance and popped himself up, unassisted. I've seen him do this once before.

Then, as I'm three feet away and ass-glued to the porcelain playground I watch my son take his first step.

Shit really does happen when you're a mom.