The true meaning of “Shitshow”

It’s Sunday.

In my world this means NFL Football. Or it used to….pre-Mabel. Now, I watch fragments of games in between sippy cups, trips to the park and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Life is a little less about football, but that doesn’t mean I love it any less. I just love Mabel more. Well, until Superbowl Sunday that is.

“Someone just pooped.”

“Well, I guess you better change her then?!”

“Um…..No.” Erin smiles with that I know-you’re-being-funny-right-now, but-I’m-not-in-the-mood-type look.

Ok. Ok. It was worth a try. Erin changed a pretty epic diaper earlier in the day…..or so she says? Erin is a little (lot) more poop-sensitive than me. She’s always dry-heaving away like she’s never encountered anything so disgusting in her life. This shocks me every time. A) This is your child. B) Erin is a nurse. A pediatric nurse. Isn’t poop-tolerance a prerequisite to that line of work? Apparently not.

Erin is gloating on the couch as I tootle off to Mabel’s room for a clean diaper and some wipes. I position Mabes on the floor in perfect view of the football game. Booker (our pug), as always is by my side making sure I’m doing things according to good health practices. Olive (our chubby pug) is snoring away, oblivious to the mayhem that is about to take place.

Mabel’s diaper is alarming. There are at least 2 recognizable food items. And as a bonus, some has trailed up her back. This requires the one-handed technique of raising both legs high in the air, all while trying to preserve the carpet and do some clean up on isle 9 with the other. So, as I’m grabbing more and more wipes, Mabel decides to reach for a book…..of course, The Very Hungry Caterpillar. And now she’s trying to shove Eric Carle’s classic between her legs. “No, honey.” In the midst of preventing the book from a one way ticket to “poo-ville” and keeping our carpet clean, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. “Booker…….NOOOOOO!” Booker’s face is completely submersed in Mabel’s diaper like he’s trying to win a pie-eating contest. “NOOOOOOOO!” And gross. And now Mabel is in fact using her book as a baby wipe. I shove Booker’s face out of the “poo pie” and throw Mabel’s book across the room (not even sure at this point if it has poo on it). And as I’m reaching for more wipes……there it is. My wife, dry-heaving her face off. You know that heaving that comes from deep within your chest and makes you sound like a dude, yes…..that was the noise. Repeatedly. Oh, I should mention at this point that Erin is pregnant. Very pregnant. Twin pregnant. But that’s for another blog.

So, this is our house.

Erin alternating hysterical laughter with her dude-like dry-heaving. Mabel worming her way out of mommy’s grasp to go retrieve her poo-book from wherever I threw it. And Booker, suddenly, a poo-pie opportunist? Also, I think the football game is over? Then I realized something. This is where the term “shitshow” came from. Shitshow was in fact invented by parents.

These two appear unphased by the incident. So, that’s a positive.

me and my dog