My Stinky Fate
I hate it when you're just sitting there, minding your own business with no one else around, and you start smelling poop. Your first thought is, "Time to change someone's diaper!" Until you realize that the diaper-clad child is in bed, and the potty-trained child is at a friends house. So it isn't one of them. The Husband and His Gas are at work, so he is innocent as well.
"Dangnabbit! It must be the cats!" You think next, unabashedly checking both of their butt holes. Clean. Hmm.
Now begins the frenzied search under pillows and behind furniture, desperately muttering that there must be a pile somewhere, smells just don't just show up out of the blue! Turning the entire house upside-down, you search and mutter and search some more, until a horrifying thought hits you... "It's not... me, is it?" The seat of your trousers shows up clean, and a sniff test of the rest of your body reveals nothing. Thank goodness. But you're still no closer to the source of this disgusting odor.
Sitting defeated on the floor, you can only come up with two conclusions:
A) This is just the way your house smells, and you have to get over it because nothing can be done about it. Or,
B) You have finally, truly Lost It. You are gone, beyond reach. No one can bring you back from this motherhood-induced psychosis, and you are now forced to shuffle around the neighborhood in your slippers, frightening small animals with your head tics and whispers about the smell! oh how it smells! can't you smell it? make it go away! while the neighbors peek out at you from behind their curtains, and then go and lock their doors.
I guess I'd better go find my slippers.
Update: Diaper-clad child just woke up with a poopy diaper. She was on the second floor with the door closed, and I was downstairs in the kitchen... but maybe smells travel through baby monitors? Or maybe I am just THAT GOOD and I smelled it with my psychic mom-nose?
"Dangnabbit! It must be the cats!" You think next, unabashedly checking both of their butt holes. Clean. Hmm.
Now begins the frenzied search under pillows and behind furniture, desperately muttering that there must be a pile somewhere, smells just don't just show up out of the blue! Turning the entire house upside-down, you search and mutter and search some more, until a horrifying thought hits you... "It's not... me, is it?" The seat of your trousers shows up clean, and a sniff test of the rest of your body reveals nothing. Thank goodness. But you're still no closer to the source of this disgusting odor.
Sitting defeated on the floor, you can only come up with two conclusions:
A) This is just the way your house smells, and you have to get over it because nothing can be done about it. Or,
B) You have finally, truly Lost It. You are gone, beyond reach. No one can bring you back from this motherhood-induced psychosis, and you are now forced to shuffle around the neighborhood in your slippers, frightening small animals with your head tics and whispers about the smell! oh how it smells! can't you smell it? make it go away! while the neighbors peek out at you from behind their curtains, and then go and lock their doors.
I guess I'd better go find my slippers.
Update: Diaper-clad child just woke up with a poopy diaper. She was on the second floor with the door closed, and I was downstairs in the kitchen... but maybe smells travel through baby monitors? Or maybe I am just THAT GOOD and I smelled it with my psychic mom-nose?
September 22, 2005