As you can imagine, I get a lot of solicited and unsolicited advice as a first time mother to an infant. Most of the time I really appreciated it and know that it comes from a good place. Some of the advice can feel a little…., hmm, how to put it…, like mom guilt material. Know what I mean? Yeah, I’m a working mother. Yeah, I am old. Yeah, I’ve thought through how it will be for this precious little girl to grow up with two parents who rely on Centrum Silver and think everyone should start their day off with some yummy prune juice, who think kids playing means outside, in the sunshine digging in the sand box or riding their bike, not sitting in front of a screen rapidly firing with a joy stick. It will be hard for her, no doubt. It will be hard for us. Our plan to buy a condo on the beach and slow down just hit the skids in a major way but I know without a doubt it will be the best plan for all of us if this adoption thing works out. I trust that the Creator of the universe has this under control and I am just enjoying the ride like crazy. But that’s not what this post is about, it’s about advice that I tried to take.
One of the words of wisdom I received about diaper rash was to just let the little ones run around bare butt, air is good for healing a broken out bum. Makes sense to me, right? This week BD (Bid Deal for the uninformed) was sick with a strange little virus, broke out in a weird pin prick like rash all over her body, and developed a diaper rash. I decided to put this time tested mother advice to use and let her run around her bedroom sans bottoms while I put up her clean laundry and tidied the nursery. On the floor she went, with her box of blocks on a big white fluffy towel for some air bathing play time. About four and half minutes into it, as I was hanging up her super cute new black and white dress with pink flower accent and bloomers, I heard it. PUFFFTTTDDD. I stopped in my tracks, no she didn’t just crap in my floor. Nope, still on towel, no brown log rolling out, so I shrugged my shoulders and hung up her amazingly cute zebra print outfit Miss Alyson had given her. And you guessed it. Another PUFFTTDDDD but with gurgles this time. Uhhhggg (Side note about me – according to my mom, I self potty trained very early, like 12 months because I thought sitting in a pile of crap was disgusting. To this day poop grosses me out.) I turn around and sure enough, BD is crawling off a pile of what can only be described as smashed pea stew with chunks. Thank God it was only on the towel. I stifle my gag reflex, scoop baby up off the towel and onto a fresh new diaper on the changing table, as I start to clean her up I realize the pea stew is everywhere and only a bath will rid this world of this horrible smell and disgusting mess. Scoop up baby in one arm, carefully pick up towel and source of odoriferous mound and head to bathroom. Baby goes in tub with running water, towel goes in toilet, easy breezy. Just as I am about to pat myself on the back for handily managing this HAZMAT disaster and start to wash the beautiful little joy machine, I notice that somehow I had managed to smear mashed pea stew all over the side of the tub, all over the side of the toilet and horror of horrors on my favorite of all time and they don’t make any more Eddie Bauer sweatshirt sweater that I have had for 20 years. The gagging commenced. After changing shirts, bathing baby, cleaning bathroom, cleaning changing table, cleaning floor and disinfecting all surfaces and running a load of laundry on super-hot heavy duty with bleach, I decided, to hell with that mom advice. Boudreaux’s Butt Paste works great.
Yeah, I still accept any and all advice pleasantly and with understanding that it comes from a place of love but if following said advice can possibly lead to a HAZMAT situation, I’m just going to file that in the round file cabinet under my desk. So how early can I start potty training? I’m thinking 10 months is the perfect age.