6:02am Friday morning. Sky still dark, I can hear the rain coming down, and gusts of wind. Inside the house, it’s quiet, dry, and warm. Everyone’s still sleeping. I’m eating my toast and drinking my coffee and wondering how the week went by so fast. And what a week it’s been. Two days were no nap days. But it went beyond that, not only did Jack and Fiona not take naps Tuesday and Thursday, but as I sat outside the room they were sleeping in, listening to them, waiting for them to get quiet, to know they had fallen asleep, they were doing the unthinkable behind those doors. The first day, Tuesday, I had put them down for their nap in the upstairs guest room. Usually it’s fine, they fall asleep on the bed together and there’s been no problems. Well Fiona can open doors now, and so far that just means she opens the door to the room and comes out to find me. This time, as I sat outside the room thinking it was getting quiet, that they must have fallen asleep, they were actually in the bathroom with the door shut. Poor Jack was locked in with Fiona, who, when I found her was soaking wet and smiling, Jack looked shell shocked. The floor was wet, the water running in the sink, everything from the medicine cabinet on the floor, blood smeared on the wall and mirror. I still don’t know who got cut or where the cut is. It was crazy. It was one of those scenes people post on Facebook, the pictures of what someone’s toddlers got into, the ones that make you gasp, but you say this would never happen to me, well it did, and it can.
Yesterday I put them down in their own room, childproofed, safe. I read a few books, say my goodbyes, sit outside on the stairs and watch a live broadcast of a CAIR conference in response to the comments about Islam hating “Us” that Donald T. made this week. There are some amazing speakers, and it’s grounding me and connecting me to the real America, to normal people, intelligent people, and I’m enjoying it. I can hear Jack and Fiona laughing, messing around, they don’t sound tired. Then I hear Jack say “Mama” and I decide to take a peak, maybe someone needs a diaper change. I open the door and something smells. Poop. Both babies have their pants off. Oh no. There’s something smeared on Jacks face. Holy CRAP! I’ve heard stories of babies smearing poop on the walls but didn’t believe it. It couldn’t happen to me right? I have to find all the stuffed animals, balls, babies, blue blues, blankets, everything that has poop on it, wash everything. Give the babies a bath. Light a candle, burn some incense. Seriously. The fun doesn’t stop, later I find Fiona in the bathroom, the whole box of wipes in the toilet, she’s dipping the wipes in the toilet and wiping her butt, there’s water all over the floor, I try to flush the toilet and it backs up. I have to plunge and dig the wipes out of the toilet. I realize we’re in a new stage. The poop stage. The crazy stage. The wet, bloody, messy, destruction stage? I don’t know but it keeps me on my toes. And there is nothing that could gross me out.