I know what you’re thinking:
It’s been quite some time since the Cutter posted anything about one of his children’s biological functions. We so greatly enjoyed “The Movement” trilogy, and while the Cutlet is (hopefully) past the point of those types of incidents, it seems like the twins should be providing him with plenty of post ammunition.
Good news, my weird hypothetical reader: Today’s post will indeed describe some of the “fun” Mrs. Cutter and I have had while dealing with our children’s biological functions. In fact, Cujo was so excited about this post that he provided me some new material this very morning!
If you’re the type who doesn’t enjoy reading about such matters, may I suggest catching up with my weekend posts which you might have missed?
TL/DR: Children are disgusting.
Poop in the tub: Even more fun with twins!
On three separate occasions, the Cutlet has pooped in the tub. Until two months ago, the twins had thankfully avoided following in her footsteps. Naturally, they waited until just the right time: When they were home alone with their father.
The au pair had gone away for a week, which meant I got to spend two straight days home alone with the twins. All in all, it wasn’t a bad experience, and I think I had largely gotten the hang of the whole stay-at-home thing; at least until the second evening.
With Mrs. Cutter out at the Cutlet’s dance class, I decided to be efficient and give the twins a bath. Usually, we try to bathe them separately, since they don’t always play well together, and baths go more smoothly when done on an individual basis. The Cutlass was the first to go, but unfortunately her brother was feeling excluded and wanted to climb into the bathtub as well.
Figuring that he was going to be a pain either way, I decided to just put him in the tub. After getting him undressed, I turned to place him in the tub and that’s when the evening literally went to crap.
If I thought it was bad to have one child poop in the tub – and rest assured, it was – having it happen with twins is even worse. I was now holding a naked baby a few feet above a tub that contained his twin sister and several pieces of decomposing fecal matter.
I had to put Cujo down in the hallway and grab the Cutlass before she decided to investigate how the floating stuff might taste. I pulled her out of the tub, put her beside her brother, slammed the bathroom door, and rapidly put diapers on them before they could soil the hallway. (Note: I was basically screaming the entire time I was performing these actions.) By some miracle, the diapers were applied in time, but they still needed to be bathed, especially since the Cutlass had just been wading in a pool of her own filth.
I brought them into the master bathroom, and soon learned that the tub is not ideal for bathing small children. It’s great to have a large tub when I want to take a bath, but when dealing with two small children, it would have been nice if they had less room to move around.
Like many women, Mrs. Cutter subscribes to the theory that bathtubs need to be surrounded with a plethora of candles. The twins went to work grabbing each candle and gauging how well they fit into their mouths. Despite these difficulties, I was eventually able to complete the process.
When Mrs. Cutter returned home, she found me crumpled on the floor with a glassy look in my eye. “You take them for a little while.”
The Car Seat Chronicles
If your child ever becomes sick on the first day of a four-day weekend, you can essentially abandon all hope of having a pleasant weekend. Cujo came down with the croup on Thanksgiving, and that set the tone for the entire weekend.
The next day, we took him to the doctor where he was prescribed a steroid to help loosen his throat. He seemed to be doing a bit better that afternoon, so we all went out for a drive. We passed a local street where there had been a water main break earlier in the day, and we noted that it smelled rather awful. We assumed Cujo agreed with us since he started crying loudly.
Not long after, Mrs. Cutter discovered that it wasn’t the water main that smelled so bad. Apparently, the steroid that was prescribed can sometimes cause nausea. We wish we had known that before giving him a bottle of milk and putting him into his car seat.
We’ve learned that the smell of vomited milk doesn’t easily come out of upholstery. We’ve been advised that we might want to simply write off his car seat as a loss. Unfortunately, some of the vomit also got on the van seat, and since we can’t just go out an buy a new minivan, we’ve had to do all we can to get the smell out.
We found a temporary fix for the car seat problem by swapping it out for one we were using in another car. This worked fine until last Saturday when, suffering from a nasty stomach virus, Cujo once again emptied the contents of his stomach onto himself.
We’re not sure what we’re going to do now. We’ll soon find out if the cost of a new car seat is worth it to have our minivan not smell as much like stale vomit.
Today started off well enough. Both twins were in relatively good moods, and I had gotten them fed and changed successfully (although as I would later learn, it might not have been as successful as I had thought). With less than ten minutes until the au pair started her shift, I felt pretty good about how the morning had gone.
Then I heard Cujo start to cry. I looked over and he seemed to be tugging on his pants. When I walked near him, I could smell that he needed another diaper change. Unfortunately, upon picking him up, I learned that the problem was much worse than I had suspected.
Somehow, most of the mess had escaped from the diaper and gone down his leg. So as I picked him up, some of it began dropping out from his pant leg. I screamed for Mrs. Cutter to come assist me, and then I raced him upstairs and into the bathtub. Unfortunately, he wasn’t happy about this process and screamed the whole time.
Eventually I was able to get him, the tub, and myself cleaned up. Meanwhile, the au pair – who did help with the Cutlet and the Cutlass while all this was going on – realized that she dodged a bullet. Had this incident happened half an hour later, she would have been left alone to handle it.
As I said to Mrs. Cutter as we both headed out of the house: Things can only get better from here, right?