True to Form

At the risk of causing Marinka's eyes to roll out of the back of her head (she's a huge hypochondriac, so that statement is going to bug her all day), I'm going to follow a letter to my unborn child (with baby bump pictures!) with yet another post about poop and pee.

The mommyblogger hell of it all.

I thought I might use shit and piss throughout the post to try and seem cool and hard, but I forget and type poop and pee. Because I am not at all hard and rarely even in the same zip code as cool.

It's still nipple-aching cold here and the joy of snow suits has led me to the discovery of a new mathematical theory. X = Y(a+b+c)

Where X = The number of times my children have to pee; Y = The number of layers between their actual parts and air; and a, b, and c are variables that take into account wind chill, how irritated I am and whether the baby is screaming and/or drowning in a puddle of ice water.

Yesterday, during a forty-five minute visit to the playground with all three children in full snow suit regalia, and the small restroom building locked for the winter, I had four requests to pee. After three turns stripping Ess and Gee out of four layers for a Hershey squirt of pee, I wondered whether 'pee in your pants' is ever an acceptable response? While I struggled with Gee's ski pants for the second time, only to have him announce, penis a flappin in the wind, that there was "no pee-pee coming," the baby fell head first into a foot deep puddle of ice water. So, fortunately we were already bailing in the triple-wide when Ess announced a poop emergency. All right, I've had them, we all have, but could I catch a break here?

No one ever has to go at bedtime when they are all naked. They can't even try. The very thought of trying reduces them to hiccuping sobs and shrieks of indignation. Until 3 a.m., when, for the last week, Gee has an immediate, loud and irresistible urge to "pee-pee, momma, I have to pee-pee. Momma. Mommmmmaaaaaa. Mommmmmmmmaaaaaaaa."

What is this new devilry? (Anyone know the movie - five points.) He's slept through the night for two years. He's been waking up with a dry diaper for ten months. But, without a diaper he suddenly has to pee at 3:00 a.m. like clockwork? I'm not proud. I would totally put him back in a diaper to avoid getting up at 3:00 a.m. except that he refuses to wear it and forcing a diaper on a child who asks to use the toilet when he has to pee seems extreme.

What do I say? IT'S THREE A.M. NO TOILET! GO IN YOUR DAMN DIAPER!
How would that play out in the daytime when I'm all, NO PANTS! GO IN THE DAMN TOILET!

It's a lose/lose situation. I'm the loser. It's going to be four to one in just a few months, so that's not going to improve my odds any. Thank god it will be summer. Think of how badly they could screw with me if there were snow suits, near drownings, and a nursing baby.

My disadvantaged state has not escaped noticed. My least favorite question about my current pregnancy is "oh, was this one unplanned." I'm never sure how to respond. "No, we actually kind of tried, we had a miscarriage before this pregnancy, why do you ask...oh, because there's like a hundred of them and they're all asking to pee and the baby is drowning. Sure."

My Dad to the rescue. I bitched to him about how people are starting to notice my obvious mental disorder and he sent me an email entitled "A Comeback Line for You."

A man boarded a plane with six kids. After they got settled in their seats, a woman sitting across the aisle from him leaned over and asked, "Are all of those kids yours?"

"No," he replied, "I work for a condom company. These are customer complaints."

My Dad kills me. Thanks, Dad.

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I have two articles, Forced Twins and Screaming, A Bonding Story, posted on the parenting page at Betty Confidential. It's exciting. Really only for me, but you know, celebrate with me, it's more fun if we share. They have both posted here, so no need to read them again or anything. I'm going to close comments, though, because I'm afraid you'll get tired of talking to me and also just in case you have a burning, uncontrollable urge to run over there and give me stars. I don't know what it is about those stars... (scarce to be counted, filling the chaos, with order and light, they are the sentinels, silent and sure...five points if you can name that operetta). The stars make me happy. And yes, MM, I did cringe a little typing this, after the incredible things you said. Don't give up on me?

Well crap, I can't close comments and give points. Okay, I'm just saying, unless you want to play trivia, you can pretend comments are closed. Is there a baby drowning in a puddle around here somewhere?