That time I did not have enough hands to wipe all the things that needed wiping

Last night, I was telling my husband Josh about how I was trying to get things ready for our trip.  Most people plan on going away and have lists like “Pack cute shoes” and “Don’t forget passport”.  Those were on my list, below “Maniacally organize Maura’s closet so even she can get herself dressed” and “Get Maura to poo.”.

The former went okay, though my fabulous plan of hanging up each outfit to stall Maura in her quest to unload every drawer onto the floor in search of the right shirt didn’t quite go as planned.  The latter though….


There was this moment, after dosing Maura with “special chocolate” – aka Ex-Lax – not once, but twice, and realizing that we had hit the stubborn “I really have to poo but I refuse to, I refuse!” screaming stage, and that I was leaving town the next day, and she’s a hot mess of needing to poo, and screaming at me in the bathroom, working herself up into a fine mess while also realizing that if she pressed her wet face against my shirt, it left wet marks, so I was now a bit of a hot mess myself, and I sat there, gently using phrases like “If you let the poo out, your tummy will feel better” and “It will stop hurting if you just let the poo out”, and she’s screaming, and I’m now certain my sister, who agreed to watch my offspring while I was away, was quickly packing as she ordered an Uber cab, and I’m trying to remember which saint is the Saint of the Constipated…

…or, you know, 5 pm on a Thursday…

But finally, the girl pooped.  And there was much rejoicing and high fiving and relief.

For one moment.

Because as my daughter bent over to have her hiney cleaned, and as I took many a baby wipe to do the job, I hear her go “Oh no!” and she stands up just as I notice blood on the floor…and her hands…and her face…

One of my superpowers is deducting where the blood is coming from within five seconds.  I realized that Maura had a nosebleed.  She was most concerned about the blood on her fingers as I tried to wipe her nose and keep her from stepping in the blood on the floor.  Then I realized I still needed to wipe her bum, yet that became impossible as trying to do that just caused her to bleed on the floor more.  Meanwhile, she of course stuck a finger in her nose, as if that would help.  It didn’t.  So then she once again was most concerned about the bloody finger.

And I realized in that moment, that I did not have enough hands to wipe all the things that needed wiping.

Did I panic?  Did I give up?  Of course not.  I decided to just start wiping in the order of importance – to Maura.  Finger, then nose, then floor, then bum.  And all was well again.

The moral of the story?  You can’t always do everything at once.  And sometimes, the priorities that need to be followed are not your own.  And never agree to watch your sister’s kids.

Oh, the things I go through for this little face!
Oh, the things I go through for this little face!