Merry Christmas Eve everyone! I pray that you will all be blessed this season surrounded by family and friends. This is a time to give, to serve, to love and to remember. I love that this year I have two excited little boys who are anxious about seeing all the presents under the tree. But what I love most is the privilege I have to see those precious faces tomorrow morning. I am so thankful for my family and the heritage that I have that I can pass on to my own children. Tonight, as per tradition, we will read the Christmas story and celebrate the birth of Jesus, the Saviour of the world. We give because He gave the greatest gift of all.
Today is my birthday. As a mom with small kids, even a day that is supposed to be about me is not, and I’m okay with that. In fact, I woke up this morning thinking about how my kids would react and how they would be involved in celebrating the day. I came out to the living room, very tired after working a late shift at my second job, hearing sweet, small voices singing “Happy Birthday to mo-o-o-o-mmm-meeeeee!!!” Precious. Life with children is much more enriching than the alternative.
Not the kind of thing you want to hear at 6 am. We knew this was coming, how could we not? Ever since we signed Little Man up for preschool two days a week we knew there were hidden strings attached; every sickness that went through the place, every germ passed from every runny, snot-nosed kid, every uncovered cough-our kid was susceptible to catch, and therefore, pass on as well.
It had started in the morning with the “Yop incident.” How many times have I told my husband, “No milk/dairy on an empty stomach”? LM is particularly sensitive to sudden x amount of dairy and paired with his impeccable gag reflex and dislike of textures, it’s not always a pretty scene (especially at fancy dining rooms whilst on vacation after drinking several coffee creamer cups). Then, later that day it was a cry for help as LM sat on the toilet complaining “I just can’t stop pooping!” Poor thing. We’ve all been there but there’s a reason there’s a saying “ignorance is bliss.” So, this particular night Little Man had been asleep for a while when he woke up to use the washroom. Not unusual. He seemed a bit irritable as I tucked him back into bed and a little pale maybe. But he was coughing-getting over this family-spread head cold that I swear was brought on by the flu shot and the poorly sanitized handles at the shopping carts at the supermarket. Moments later he was up out of bed and headed for the washroom again. Ok, unusual. He sat there whining about poop and then all of a sudden there was vomit on the floor. Ok fair is fair, the husband was on cleanup duty for the Yop incident so now it was my turn. I flipped the little 4 year old over so that his other end was near the bowl. He climbed up almost fetal position on the toilet seat retching whatever he had. I was just getting the acquired cleaning supplies and the husband was rubbing Little Man’s back in comfort when a fountain of surprise came out the other end making its way to the floor. Yep…my turn to clean. Into the bath he goes.
Alas, everything is cleaned up and I get these big boy overnight padded disposable underwear kept just for said occasions and try to convince Little Man to wear them. No such luck. My ultimatum is that if he wanted to sleep in our bed the pull up had to be worn or he could chose regular underwear and sleep in his own bed. He went for the latter. There was no way I was risking an accident in my fairly new, barely even paid for, queen size mattress not to mention the carpeted flooring over his bedroom hardwood. Imagine my gratefulness over my strong-headed decision when at 6 am I hear a small knock on the door. I was just dreaming of tiny angels descending and bringing me a candy cane striped Christmas card when my eyes pop open with the sound and I see a tiny figure come stumbling into the room beside me. He looks at me, “I have bad news.” “What’s the bad news?” I ask, almost fearfully. “I pooped. And there was a lot of it.” Uh-oh. “Where?” “In my bed and on the floor” he said. I stayed in bed registering what he had just said. Husband got up to deal with it. His turn. I put on my housecoat and prepared myself as I walked out into the hall.
I’ll spare the details but it really wasn’t that bad. Little Man was clam and had already cleaned himself up and put on a new pair of underwear. Nothing a bit of washing and Mr. Clean disinfectant couldn’t solve (Mr. Clean for the floor, not the kid obviously). I stripped the bed, cleaned up the floor, scrubbed a small unfortunate area of the mattress and got Little Man ready to go back to bed-again. This time he opted for the padded underwear and went on the couch with daddy and a book. I went back to bed and rather quickly as I heard another small voice calling out from his crib from the other room. My telepathic message to my husband echoed “YOUR TURN!”