An Early Father's Day (with poop)

It's been a tradition in my family for the past few years to celebrate Mother/Father's Day on the Saturday before to avoid all of the crowds, and this year was no exception.  We decided it would be fun to have dinner together at the Dogfish Head Alehouse in Gaithersburg, MD.  Our good friend, former roommate, and one-time neighbor, Lisa was waiting with her mother, and our table, when we arrived.  My parents and sister showed up shortly after.

Abby was fairly well behaved as we waited for our food to arrive, though she got into a call-and-response shriek-fest with a toddler a few tables away, and I had to resort to public use of the binky.

 
I was so proud of her once our orders were brought to the table, though, and was once again reminded of what a big little girl she's becoming.

She munched on a few of the chips that came with our appetizers, and there was no throwing of food on the floor (although a couple of crayons and toys ended up down there at various times).  And, for the very first time, we ordered an actual meal for her from the kids menu (a pepperoni pizza), from which she ate with no assistance.

I would take this time to write about what an incredibly pleasant experience it was to eat without having to tend to a toddler or baby while inhaling my own food, but alas, while Michael was in an incredible mood all through the drink orders and indecisiveness over what entrees to get, he decided when my food arrived that it was time for him to eat, too.  So I ate my Shepherd's Pie in traditional mommy-style, with one hand occupied and my fork swinging from plate to mouth at awkward angles.

It was all good, though, because he truly was in the most fantastic mood up to that point, and I just couldn't get enough of all the giggling, cooing, smiling, wiggling and toe grabbing.

But on to the poop, because I know that you just can't wait to hear about it.

Warning- may be TMI...

True to form, Abby couldn't let it be a night of just one "first," so she introduced another: the bath-time poop.  My sister was famous for this as a baby, to the point where my mother always placed her inside of a laundry basket when she bathed us together, though it only worked so well as a containment device.  But due to some incredible luck on my part, I suppose (since Abby is a 3-4 times a day kind of gal, and Michael beats even that), it has never once happened to me with either of my children.

Things I have learned from this experience:

1.  Never giggle at a fart in the tub.  Grab that farting baby and swing him or her over to the toilet ASAP.
2.  That stuff will break apart to infinity, and there is just no scooping it all up- just accept that some of it is going down the tub drain.
3.  (Though this is something I've learned before, and seem to re-learn each time) Parenthood will fling you head-first into all kinds of activities you never imagined you'd be engaged in, and without a second thought as you do.


Needless to say, bath time was cut short, converted to a quick shower, and followed promptly by story and bed time, since we were already running a good hour behind from having been out.

As I came downstairs after putting Abby down, exhausted from the evening's events and the day in general, and lamenting that I could never look at my fancy whirlpool tub the same way again, Tom had this song ready to play for me:

Daughter, by Wainwright Loudon

Everything she sees, she says she wants. Everything she wants, I see she gets.
 
That's my daughter in the water, everything she owns I bought her- everything she owns.  
That's my daughter in the water, everything she knows I taught her. Everything she knows.
 
Everything I say, she takes to heart. Everything she takes, she takes apart.
 
That's my daughter in the water, every time she fell I caught her- every time she fell.  
That's my daughter in the water, I lost every time I fought her- yeah, I lost every time.
 
Every time she blinks, she strikes somebody blind. Everything she thinks, blows her tiny mind.  

That's my daughter in the water, who'd have ever thought her- who'd have ever thought? 
That's my daughter in the water, I lost every time I fought her- yeah, I lost every time.

Copied from MetroLyrics.com 

And then he went upstairs, as my eyes watered and my mood softened, took care of sanitizing the tub and bath toys, and proceeded to walk Michael to sleep so that I could sit down and write this blog post before I collapse.

That's my husband.  Amazing man.  Incredible father.

Happy Father's Day to all you wonderful daddies out there, especially to my own, and to the father of my beautiful children.