Code Brown

Nothing could have prepared me for the load T unleashed yesterday.  If it were warm out I would have hosed him down and threw away the clothes.  But times being what they are, I faced the emergency butt-on and salvaged them thanks to the sanitary cycle.  I had no idea babies had a reserve system, but it was obvious he’d been storing up for quite sometime prior to its malfunction.  It eclipsed one of the chief household distruptors of my life, which almost always hits as we’re walking out the door or when I’ve just managed to fall asleep: dog vomit.  The sound that precedes dog vomit involuntarily shoots me out of bed.  Similar to baby/child vomit, it can be heard from hundreds of yards away.  But the good thing about dog vomit is that the dog can be ushered outside to finish wretching in the front/back yard.  No can do with child.  Anyway, this code brown was absurd: T thrashing about in the tub, brown smears appearing up the walls at an alarming rate, chunks flying about, D crawling off with his brother’s soiled bundle streaking the floors of several rooms, T smashing his face on the tub and coming up brown, and me gagging, ahh’ing and nooo’ing through it all.  It was even more absurd than what I’d endured earlier that morning: the doctor’s office.  T & D’s well-child visit was like being flung into a two-on-one wrestling match with angry bear cubs.  They tag-teamed me with such skill and strength, a muscle in my back popped under the stress.  When it was over, bear cubs snoring and me smelling like I’d just hit the gym, I sat in my car for a over an hour, staring straight ahead, trying to process what had just happened.  Then came the poop.  Then came my turn for car pool.  Then came the Z pick-up.  Then the Babysitter. 

During unhappy hour a sitter came so I could take Z to music class.  She was helping feed everyone when a concerned Z told me to look at the boys.  When I continued with other business, Z demanded my attention.  She was alarmed because the sitter had heaped a massive pile of turkey sausage on each of their trays and Z knows we avoid choking hazzards by serving baby brothers only a few pieces of food at a time.  I gave some direction, but couldn’t dwell on it.  We had to move on.  Luckily I was close by when the sitter turned away; With D in my arms I made a one-handed catch as T tumbled off the changing table.  I’ve never had to do that before.  It set my heart racing for the next thirty minutes.  To cut cost and hopefully increase survival rates, Z and I took D to music class too.  A steady pulse of protective thoughts went out to the kids we left behind.  Z stumbled across the music circle with D dangling awkwardly from her arms.  With each clumsy, hurried step the other parents’ eyes widened and their bodies instinctively flinched, and I realized I was not the least bit concerned for D’s safety.  When a little girl tried to scoop D up, Z swooped in, wrapped her arms around him, engaged in a stare-down and pulled D back to our little island.  Back home the children were alive.  I could tell by the screams of T from his crib.  In spite of the insanity they were asleep by 8:30.  I longed for massive amounts of chocolate, but we had neither chocolate nor clean clothes so I tended the laundry.  Then, at long last, around 10:30pm, TC returned from his trip (he actually came back!).  And then D woke up.  And our dog threw up.  Just kidding.  About the dog.    

I could really use a drink about now.


4 responses to “Code Brown

    You need a Mrs. Livingston. And a drink.


  2. Seriously, what a friggin nightmare.

    I firmly believe in the theory about the poop reserves in little ones. Once, when S was about 7 mo. she had an episode which I later described as just like the play doh factory toy they showed on TV (where you turned the crank and it kept oozing out). And I went through many diapers, both cloth and disposable to catch it all.

    The difference is that I only had 1 child at the time…so it was actually a little funny.

    Welcome home TC. I knew he’d come back.

  3. What a strange coincidence, both you and Rihanna had a Code Brown.

  4. Just so you know, I often sit for an hour in my car and stare at nothing. It is the bodys way of absorbing twins. Your doing great lady, just keep some chocolate in you rcar too.

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