If It Smells Like Poo . . .

Sorry guys, but there is no way I cannot NOT tell this story. Thankfully, there are no pictures to go along with it. I've always known kids were gross. I did my fair share of babysitting through the years. I just didn't know how gross they could be until I had my own gross little booger. I have really surprised myself at the disgusting things I look at, smell, put my hand in (eww), all in the name of love. So this past weekend's event should not have phased me in the least, but I admit I was a little skeeved out. Mostly, because it didn't even bother me.

Finn was sick all last week and by Friday afternoon, we were all itching for some fresh air. So we took Lily and walked down to the neighborhood playground. Finn loves the swings, the slide, watching the other kids, but mostly he loves sitting in and playing with the mulch. Good stuff. So I stood to the side of the playground while he toddled around. I saw him across the way bend over and inspect something. In my head I'm thinking "awww, he found a pretty rock or a flower." In my gut I'm thinking "noooooooooo" Of course he picks up the "treasure" he found and makes a beeline for me, hand outstretched. The little kid standing next to him confirmed my worst fear when he yelled "MOM, HE'S GOT POO!" 

Yes, people, my sweet little boy had a handful of someone else's dog's poo. And he was bringing it to me. Why does it matter that it was another person's dog and not Lily's, well, I guess it doesn't, but come on, you know you'll wipe your own kid's snotty nose, but draw the line at your neighbor's kid. Same principle applies.  Of course the only things I have in my stroller are two plastic bags and a bottle of apple-scented bubbles. Because if I've learned anything in my brief 15-months of mommyhood it is this: If you think you are prepared and have packed for every possible situation, you will find yourself in a situation that you are not prepared and/or packed for. Case in point. 

Because it was an ordeal to get to the playground, we weren't going home just because of a little poo. So I "washed" his hands in the bubbles, wiped his hands on his jeans, and sent him on his merry little way. I had to let him play with the plastic bags on the way home to keep him from trying to lick the "apples" off of his hands. So, I'm not going to win the mom-of-the-year award, but I bet I made you laugh.

Moral of the story:  Clean up after your dog (and always carry bubbles)