“Literally…in the whole history of the world…I am POSITIVE that no one has ever walked up the stairs to see his wife in their daughter’s bedroom. In an adult sock monkey onesie. And a giant baby head. On her hands and knees. Running her hands through the carpet.”

-Kyle Hansen (husband extraordinaire)

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No one ever told me the real, gory, vomit-inducing details of being a mom. I mean, sure, everyone gets the proverbial “Just you wait” comments, but no one TRULY went in to great detail about just how NASTY and UNSETTLING parenthood can be.

I am not, however, complaining about being a parent. Being a mom is truly the hardest BEST job in the world and I would not give it up for anything. But why didn’t any one tell me about this impending event? A simple warning would have been helpful in adequately preparing my brain for the gut-gurgling mom-venture that was about to take place. I would also like to put this out there for anyone that will  be attending a baby shower EVER AGAIN. AT ANY POINT IN TIME. Perhaps, what would be most helpful, is forgoing the standard gifts of onesies, baby bottles, and pacifiers and instead providing the new mom with a “Gag Bag”. Please fill said bag with items such as the following: medical masks, rubber gloves, hand sanitizer, citrus flavored candy to curb the urge to vomit, hair ties, tissues to dab the watering eyes, makeup remover, a change of clothes, a bucket, some fishing line, and a gift card to the nearest margarita bar. Yea, please buy them that. THAT is helpful.

It all started on a gorgeous, uneventful Wednesday afternoon. The day had been quite successful up until that point, which really should have been my first clue that SOMETHING was about to go down. Something that I never imagined I would be dealing with.

We woke up that morning and everyone seemed to be in a decent mood, which is a success all on it’s own. I got the kids fed, cleaned up, and dressed in the best outfits I could muster at the time. I can’t guarantee we got our hair brushed, but I digress. As far as I remember, no one had any cereal residue or snot on their face. *Pats self on the back*

I loaded the little crotch spawns in to the car and got Everlee to preschool on time. While she was at school, I put Leyton down for a nap and celebrated with a secret cupcake and 12 cups of coffee got some work done. Those 3 hours of preschool are a GOD-SEND, I tell ya. One love nugget at home is so much easier than two, so it feels like a 3 hour vacation to this mama. Shortly before noon, I fed the youngest and got him loaded back in to the car for preschool pickup. (CONFESSION: In the car, the realization hit that my 3 hour mini-vaca was officially over and I had to hold back the tears that were on the break of spilling over. Goodbye, freedom. If you ever ask me again, though, I’ll deny it.)

After we got home, the lovely Wednesday carried on with both success and grace. The kids ate lunch and BOTH went down for a nap. AT THE SAME TIME. And I had to try really hard to hold back my twitchy fingers from pouring a class of vino to celebrate THE BEST WEDNESDAY EVER.

Now, at this point some of you might be thinking to yourselves: “But WTF was she doing wearing a sock monkey onesie and giant baby head? Can we get back to that fact, please?”

Yes….yes we can. But I AM slightly confused as to why you would even need clarification?! It was Halloween week and it only makes sense for me to dress up in costume along with the rest of the tiny dancers, right? AND…when one comes across a giant baby face mask during a much-hated trip to Wal-mart, one must buy said mask…right? RIGHT. AND…when one is wearing a giant baby head mask, one must complete the costume by putting on the sock monkey onesie that one already had in her closet, right? RIGHT. (If you even THINK of having to ask me WHY I already had a sock monkey onesie in my closet, then you clearly do not know me at all. Scroll down and read the rest of my blogs…it will shed some light. Then come have a beer with me because I like fun.)

Now, the time has come. I hear the children stirring in their bedrooms. They have risen from their slobber-soaked slumbers and nap time has sadly come to an end. I gather all of my patience and sanity,carry on as normal, and head up to their bedrooms. I grab Leyton first, as he is most likely to get Al Pacino pissed and eat his way out of his wooden crib. Then, Leyton and I head in to Everlee’s room to summon the beast. Everything seems to be kosher, so we all head downstairs to eat our afternoon snack. Apples for the kids, cookies for me. SHUT IT, JUDGY. YOU KNOW YOU LIKE COOKIES, TOO. 

And then…it happened…

Out of the blue, while sitting at the kitchen table, Everlee muttered the words that would turn the entire afternoon in to a serious, God’s Honest shit search.

“Mom…I tooted in my bed.”

Ummmm…..ok? My response was, of course, perfectly appropriate:

“Congratulations.”

Here it comes…

“But don’t worry, Mom. I took the little piece of poop and threw it out of my bed.”

Wait…WHAT?!

“Everlee…WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

***Everlee puts her head down to her food***

“Nothing.”

“No, no, NO. What did you say? Did you say you took a little piece of poop and threw it off your bed?”

“Yes.”

“WHY? Why was there a little piece of poop? AND WHY DID YOU THROW IT? You aren’t a monkey, we don’t throw poo!”

“No…Mom, listen. I have to tell you something. I was in bed, trying to sleep, and I accidentally tooted. And a little piece of poop came out. And I didn’t want it in my bed while I slept so I took it and threw it over the edge.”

OMG. OMG. OH…MY…GOD!

And that is when the turd scavenger hunt began.

I grabbed Everlee, took my onesie-clad body, and sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom. I immediately asked her where the ‘little piece of poop’ was. Effing SICK. The fact that I was even asking this question was gag-worthy.

In true Everlee fashion, she responded with the always-irritating: “I don’t remember.”

WELL YOU BETTER START REMEMBERING REAL DAMN QUICK, KID.

I threw Ev up on to her bed (it is a loft bed, so you can only imagine how far that poo could have launched itself) and made her start looking in her bed. There were only 7,000 stuffed animals in her bed, so it was SUPER CONVENIENT TO SEARCH FOR THE SHIT NUGGET. I promptly got on my hands and knees on the carpet and started shaking every toy, blanket, animal, and article of clothing in hopes that the human rabbit pellet would rear it’s ugly head. No such luck. So I started running my hands through the long fibers of her still-plush BROWN carpet. That’s right…BROWN. EFFING. CARPET. How exactly is one supposed to find a poop pellet in a sea of turd-colored fibers? NOT. POSSIBLE. I scooted my adult onesied ass around the carpet like a crazed toddler after a pinata explosion. STILL. NO. POOP.

This is the point when Kyle got home from work, heard the chaos from the upper level, made his way up the stairs, and witnessed my grown ass in a sock monkey onesie with a giant baby head SCOOTING around the floor like a true psychopath. After a few moments of observation and sheer confusion, he asked me what the hell was going on. I then made Everlee explain to her dad EXACTLY why we were tearing her room apart like we were searching for a shit grenade. It’s because we were…indeed…searching for a shit grenade.  A REAL LIFE SHIT GRENADE.Kyle thought it was hilarious. I was trying not to vomit. If I pulled my finger from the carpet with a tiny turd smeared on my index finger,  I would FOR SURE vomit on the carpet. GAME OVER, FOLKS, this is how it all ends for me.

After more than 10 minutes of searching and full removal of ALL room debris, we STILL hadn’t found the elusive fecal bullet that Everlee insisted was in there. This unknown was TERRIFYING and induced many, many questions:

What if we never found it?

What if the odor-free shit droplet becomes a permanent part of Everlee’s room?

What if I walk in the room a week from now and feel the warm, soft nugget between my giant man toes?

What if Leyton is playing on the floor and confuses it for a cocoa puff? Do I need to call poison control?

What if it gets caught in Cosmo’s dog hair and he smears it all over the house during his worldly travels?

THE UNKNOWN WAS TERRIFYING. Halloween ain’t got NOTHIN’ on this shit-tastic scare tactic.

I finally came to the conclusion that the turd was non-existent. We tore that room APART and we are STILL without the shit ball. Surely, Everlee MUST have dreamed it and confused her dream for reality.

“Everlee, are you SURE you threw a tiny turd off the bed after it sneaked out of your unexpected bed fart?”

“Yes.”

“Are you SURE it wasn’t just a dream?”

“It wasn’t a dream!”

“Well….we can’t find it anywhere! WHY THE HECK DID YOU NOT JUST GO TO THE BATHROOM AND FLUSH IT DOWN THE TOILET? What the heck, kid. Why do you want to put me in a grave!?”

“I don’t know…I just didn’t expect for a little poop to come out. And I just REALLY didn’t want to sleep with the poop.”

“Well…touche. I wouldn’t want to sleep in my own excrement, either. But seriously, WHERE DID IT GO?! YOUR JOB IS TO FIND IT. And next time your body decides to surprise you with a little poop present, PLEASE, I BEG YOU…just go to the flippin’ bathroom and dispose of the butt bullet in an appropriate location!”

Still…to this day…the ‘Mystery of the Fecal Faux Pas’ has yet to be solved. Despite scouring, cleaning, vaccuuming, and lengthy discussion, the tiny poop particle remains at large. What an elusive little shit.

And THAT, folks….is how a part of me died that day.