It was an ordinary Wednesday night. Jimmy was out playing 9-ball, and I was at home with the kiddos. Bed time routine begins with "tubby time," which I like to make into a singing, splashing mess. To cut down on the work, I bathe the two kids together which always provides entertainment. Ashton likes to sort of swim and is constantly scooting Reagan from one side of the tub to the other saying "beep beep" as he commandeers all of the available real-estate.
Splish splash nothing to report and then I hear the dreaded grunting. Reagan is red-faced and right in the middle of soiling our bubble paradise. I quickly pick her up mid-poop and scream "Ashton get out! Reagan pooped! POOP!!!" while running to her room to do a 5 second diaper change to catch the remaining debris. I quickly return to the tub with Ashton sitting in the furthest corner from the mess and yank him out as quickly as possible setting him on the bathmat with Reagan. This is not the first time we have had this experience, so although I am annoyed, it wasn't a huge deal.
As I tried to drain the tub and replace the water, Ashton does something I had never considered. As a direct assault on Reagan, he turns to her and throws up all over her, the bathmat, my foot, and his face. WHAT JUST HAPPENED?! So here I am with two poopy, vomit covered children, with poop conveniently in the one place that could be used to clean them. Clearly, I was outnumbered.
Parenthood requires a serious sense of humor...
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