It's official...

I had my first crisis moment as a mother of two last night. Hope you're in for a doozy...

While I was hurrying to make dinner so that a fussy Tyler could be tended to a.s.a.p., Parker was playing in his bedroom and had gotten rather quiet. This usually means one of two things: a) he is doing something naughty or b) he is pooping. Yes, that's right, my 3-year-old is ALSO still in diapers, and likes his privacy, I guess. So as soon as that thought crossed my mind, he comes out of his room and tells me "Mom, I went poopie on my wall." O-kay. I couldn't figure out what he meant, because his pants were still in tact. So he took me in and showed me a lovely wall art of poopiness that he had obviously created with his bare hand. I also noticed it on the closet door. I just figured he had stuck his hand in his diaper, and rushed him immediately to the bathroom, where (bending over him to help) I washed hands. It was then that I noticed what had actually happened - his poopies had blown out of the back of his diaper and were now surfacing onto his back and shirt. Eek!

I tore the shirt off and, without a game plan, tossed it in the toilet to be washed later. I knew he needed a bath at this point. Hearing the shrill cry of Tyler from the living room, I rushed him to the bathtub (right off our bedroom) and proceeded to try and wipe off as much of the poopie disaster as I could before throwing him in. It was then that I noticed the poopies on my OWN pants from when I was bent over to wash his hands. Disgusting!! So I tore off his diaper, tossed him in the tub and tore off my own pants. Then I washed my hands and rushed to Tyler. When in his own bathtub (which I didn't use this time - too many toys to sterilize after) he usually has a cup to play with, so when he asked for one right then, I ran and got one for him, hoping it would keep him busy while I tended to Tyler.

Then I remembered dinner cooking on the stove.

AAAAH! I ran to the stove to find the stir fry, FRIED. Not having eaten anything since lunch, I shoved in a few mouthfuls to get some energy for the upcoming poopie wall-cleaning I was dreading. Tyler seemed to be calm by now, so I laid him down. It was eerily quiet in the bathroom...

"Parker?" I called. No answer.
"Parker?!" Still, no answer.

I ran into my room to find that, with his cup, he had "kept busy" by quietly dumping bath water onto the floor, which therefore flooded not only the bathroom, but a good portion of my bedroom carpet as well. *I will add that the night before, he had flooded the bathmat in HIS bathroom the same way, and we had warned him that bath water STAYS IN the bathtub. Obviously, he thought that this bathroom was free game.* So there I was, sans pants, a by-now crying baby again, flooded bedroom, guilty-faced toddler, poopie wall and shirt in the toilet.

I impressed myself by not crying. At this point, however, I did what I swore I would NEVER do - unless it was a real emergency- and called in for back-up (a.k.a. Peter, who was still at school & due home in an hour.) Boy I'm glad I have a teammate - he came home & cleaned the poopies - my hero :).