It's a pootiful morning, it's a pootiful day.

It was 3:09am when I heard the first howl of "MOMMY! MOMMY!" followed by sobbing. I jumped out of bed and got all light headed. Relying on my memory, I navigate to the bedroom door and out into the family room. I get my bearings before I reach my sons room. He hasn't stopped screeching. I get there and hear him say "watch out!" It was just a second too late. It was cold and squishy. I ignore it briefly to make sure my son is ok. He is pleading with me not to be mad and won't stop crying. The smell is overwhelming. It's poop.

I pick him up holding him an arms length away from me and gingerly tip toe to the bathroom. I set him down in front of the toilet and begin to PEEL his pajama's from his body. When they are off I return to his bedroom to find new jammies for him because he will need it after he's clean. I flip on the light in the bedroom and it looks like a crime scene. Only there isn't any blood just poop. I decided this is too big of a job for one person to do at 3:15 in the morning so I go get my husband. This starts my son screeching again because he's alone and naked in the bathroom. My husband takes the boy cleaning duty and I start scrubbing the carpet. (It still amazes me how as a mother I've become able to turn off that barf reflex when needed. ) My son is now crying in the tub about how much he loves his fuzzy jammies and how he's afraid I'll make him throw them away. CCB assures him that Mommy can fix them up just fine. This comforts him and he finally relaxes.

After my boy is clean and back in bed I send CCB back to bed. The worst of it is over and he needs his sleep. I clean up the hall carpet and start some laundry then it's back to bed for me.

Why did I tell you that?

Probably because I have no class and I find it ironic that while I had to pop a bill for constipation last night my son can shoot poo through a screen door at 20 paces. Too much information? Yeah. It probably is.

So how's your day?