Floaters

I’ve quickly learned that it is rarely a good thing when I hear the Captain yell “Jenny!!” from another part of the house. Even more of a sign that shenanigans are afoot is when he yells my name while he is giving Pumpkin her bath. This has only ever meant one thing.

Pumpkin pooped in the tub.

Again.

I’m not sure if it is the warm water feeling oh-so-nice on her little bottom or what, but she has one of these accidents at least once a week. And of course it is when the tub is saturated with toys. And washcloths. And previously squeaky-clean baby.

The Captain obviously scoops her out of the tub post-haste, and whisks her into the shower stall adjacent to the tub. We have one of those wand showerhead things that is perfect for rinsing bathwater-turned-toilet water off of tender baby bottoms. I am actually starting to think that she does this with purpose, because she loves the shower, and she has always gotten spirited away from the tub and into the shower the second that the turds start a’floatin.

I can just hear my mom right now. “I can’t believe she posted a picture of poop in the bathtub on the internet!” Yeah mama, I’ll always be your classy little girl.

I’ve got a bathtub full of baby toys to go bleach.

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