Not for the faint-hearted (aka Sh!t Happens 2)

Yesterday, as I was having a nice soak in our newly renovated bathroom with pina colada bubble bath I was reminded of the following:

When I was pregnant with Luke I liked to have bubble baths a lot. Now, we have dimmers on almost all of the lights in our house, and I love to have the lights very, very dim when I have baths; occasionally I'll read by candlelight (nothing better than Pride and Prejudice by candlelight surrounded by pineapple/coconut flavoured bubbles). I also like to have baths with Madeline sometimes.

(I just remembered that this will have to be two stories in one, because this part is important. About 6 months into my pregnancy with Luke, I think my back had enough of carrying a 35 pound two year old around and what I thought was my hip (but turned out to be a butt muscle) would give out so that I couldn't walk. I went to my doctor and he sent me for physio. The second time I went, which is the day I speak of here, he worked the muscle so much that I could no longer walk or put any pressure on my left leg... I mean none... I was on crutches. But only for 24 hours. I, of course, was miraculously healed as I sat in my doctor's waiting room waiting for him to check me over. (Seriously, I came in on crutches because I couldn't walk, and when the nurse said to come into the office I could suddenly walk. She said that the next time something is wrong with me I should just come and sit in the office for a bit, and that should cure me.) )

Anyway, so the day before my miraculous healing, I decided that a bath might relax this ass of a butt muscle of mine. Madeline needed a bath that night too, so she hopped in with me (although I certainly didn't hop in myself). We sang some songs, she poured water on my knees and back, and we played with her bath toys, all in a nice dimly lit bathroom (Marc used to laugh at me when we were first married because when he'd go to the bathroom after I'd have a bath, there'd be a pile of rubber duckies and wind-up bath toys by the drain that I had played with while in the bath). It was very relaxing.

At one point Marc came in and talked with us for a bit, and on his way out he said, "what's all that stuff in the water?" I said, "oh, that's just all the gunk from inside her squeezie toys", and we continued playing. We had a nice long bath together, and 45 minutes later Marc comes in to dry off Madeline and help me get out of the tub, and he turned the lights back up. And when he did that, we discovered that "stuff" in the water was not gunk from in her squeeze toys, but, that's right you guessed it: gunk from inside my daughter. Madeline and I had been stewing in her feces for over 45 minutes. It was gross. It was disgusting. But worst of all, was that since I could hardly get into the tub in the first place, I couldn't get out of the tub to wash it out and then back in to shower myself off, so I had to stand there while Marc drained all of the poo and wiped off the tub and watch it all wash over my feet and legs.

Oh well... it makes for a good story.