You can't make this stuff up

There are those days or weeks, as a parent, that you find yourself in a nice little routine. You're able to walk out the door for play-dates on time, showered, with happy, well-dressed kiddos in tow. Your family goes out to eat and you actually have a peaceful dinner with laughter, little mess, and a lot of pride when the waitress compliments your son's manners. Bed-time is full of cuddles, kisses, and a seamless transition from mama to bed. THEN...the other shoe drops and kicks you right in the keester. The sun-shiny life with kids can be quickly thrown into an upheaval and you're reminded that your little routine is, at best, laughable.

Early last week, Barrett came down with what I thought was a nasty stomach bug (of the butt-variety). I cancelled swim class, declined play-dates, and hunkered down at home with Pedialite and lots of Dora. As the week went on, Barrett didn't seem to feel any better, wasn't eating, and had an ugly case of diaper rash. I was hesitant to see the doctor because there isn't much to be done for a virus besides forking over the $15 co-pay, being told to keep your sicky hydrated, and enforce the BRAT diet. I caved, though, after one-too-many painful diaper changes and made a last-minute appointment to get Barrett in.

Oh that fateful day. It took all of about two minutes for the pediatrician to diagnose Barrett's condition. Constipation. I was told to get the kid started on a daily dose of powdered laxative...and then she told me what to do to get him some "immediate relief". Sweet mother. Grant was going to be home late from work and I was facing the task of giving my not-quite-two year old a suppository. But seeing Barrett in pain was enough to kick my mom-drive up a notch and commit to the unthinkable.

Upon returning home with the essentials in hand, a series of unfortunate events unfolded so bizarre that I kept looking around for the hidden camera. I unloaded Barrett from the car and found that he had totally soaked his diaper (thanks, Pedialite) and his car-seat. Nothing like sopping wet pee-pants! I put Barrett up on the changing table and tried to use my soothing mom-voice to calm him as I removed his wet diaper. With a raw butt, Barrett was fed up with diaper changes and began thrashing about wildly. All of a sudden, I heard a crack and my poor son began sliding backwards, head-first off of his now broken changing table. I was able to grab his ankles at the last minute and save him from his death-ride, but the kid was already in hysterics. What fabulous timing for someone who was about to receive "immediate relief". I tried to console the wailing munchkin, but decided to trudge on and get down to business.

I carried my bare-butt buddy down the hall to the bathroom in just enough time to get peed on. (Seriously, Pedialite?) I was soaked and forced to strip down to the bare essentials. I suppose this was Barrett's way of putting us on more of an equal playing field. I'll spare you the grizzly details, but the "after" picture was of a screaming, naked toddler standing in a bath tub being cheered on by a half-naked mom, encouraging him to produce some of the most foul prizes known to man. It was brutal...for Barrett, for me, for our dog who hid out on the other side of the house. But relief did come and Grant came home to a happier, lighter son. His shell-shocked wife, however, did not fare as well. I downed an entire pint of ice cream that he was smart enough to bring home and then continued my destruction at a nearby Taco Bell.

Seriously, people, with kids there are just days that you come up for air long enough to wonder, "Is this real life?" My only suggestion in coping is to laugh about it until you can truly find it funny. That is, however, until you have to give the kid another suppository the next night and you happen to hear your dog puking up his entire dinner in the living room. In that case, hit the booze.