[My super cute kid at the fair the other night]
*Disclaimer: This post will contain the mention of both trash cans and poop.
Trash Cans and Poop.
That's how the headline from my evening would read. I'll start by saying that I was really loving two-and-a-half. It's a great age. My kid is pretty much completely potty trained during her waking hours, she can tell me how she feels, and she is no longer shoving rocks/plants/dust bunnies into her mouth at random.
Or so I thought.
The evening started out innocently enough. After a long day of work we were treating our daughter to a healthy dinner of Fuddrucker's burgers and fries. (Yes I can already tell that this post is definitely going to win me Mother of the Year) Sitting in the booth, checking out photos of Elvis and giant canoes suspended from the ceiling chatting about our day. As will inevitably happen when you take your toddler out to a restaurant, water may have been spilled all over the floor. Thinking that this would be the disaster of the night, I calmly grabbed some napkins and began mopping it up. Violet was standing beside me, I suppose for moral support. As I looked up from the task at hand, I glanced at Kevin's face - and it was frozen into a mask of pure horror.
I turned to find Violet, tongue fully extended, licking (with enthusiasm) her reflection in the shiny metal trash can. The old man sitting across from us echoed my thoughts exactly when he stated, "That's just not right." To which Kevin (who had at this point regained his faculties) quickly responded, "She's building immunity". Yes, the phrase parents use when their child is doing something completely disgusting.
After explaining to our daughter that trash cans are dirty and no matter how shiny they are we definitely do NOT lick them we all had a good laugh and decided that this was our disaster of the night.
And then we went home.
As is usually the case, immediately after I placed Violet into her bedtime diaper she decided that she had to poop. So we rushed to the potty, I whipped off the diaper, and she went number two in the toilet. We cheered and clapped and then...I felt it - warm gooeyness between my toes.
I had stepped in it.
I quickly recreated the events in my head - we must not have made it to the potty quite in time and in my zest to remove the diaper and get her on the toilet it had rolled out onto the floor. And under my foot. And in between my TOES.
So as I wiped and bathed my foot, Kevin mopped the floor, and we went back about the business of getting Violet ready for bed. Go team! All the while I just couldn't get the smell out of my nose. I asked Kevin if he had disposed of the diaper or if it was still sitting around somewhere? as Violet tugged at my leg. "Mommy!" she said, "Poop!" To which I responded, "You need to poop again sweetie?" "No Mommy - POOP!" she insisted as she pointed at my leg.
Ah. Mystery solved. The smell that had followed me was emanating from MY KNEE. On my legs which, of course, happened to be clothed in my brand new jeans. Which I had been wearing around the house for about ten minutes post poop incident. TEN. Now I must live with the fact that we may never know what surfaces may have been touched and contaminated in my home during this window of time. And yes, that I somehow managed to scrub my foot without looking at my knee. How this is possible I cannot begin to tell you.
Mother of the Year.