This week has been a doozy. 

Abbott, who’s been battling some painful bowel movements, finally became so constipated that I called his doctor on Monday and the nurse suggested a suppository. I have never given anyone or anything any sort of suppository, so it went just as you can probably imagine it went. He cried. I cried. Seth, who was golfing (because of course he was), received multiple phone calls of Abbott and I’s duet of scream-yell-cries, each of which ended with me hanging up abruptly because he was annoyingly calm and somehow suddenly knew everything about infant suppositories (???). Honestly, I will say as far as watching your kids experience pain, it was probably the worst mom moment I’ve had since Matty’s surgery. Maybe I should have Googled the side effects, maybe the nurse shouldn’t have acted like it was a fucking rainbows and sunshine solution – who knows. Either way, we both survived. He pooped, eventually.

And then Tuesday came.

Tuesday, Abbott still wasn’t acting right (aka perfect) so I took him in to the doctor. Turned out, constipation wasn’t his biggest issue*: he had an ear infection and Herpangina. For those of you unfamiliar with Herpangina (like I was), it is the technical term for Hand, Foot, Mouth in the throat – AKA a very contagious, disgusting throat virus often diagnosed by sick ass throat blisters (and of course called HERPANGINA – not to be too crass but could a worse name for something that has nothing to do with herpes, anus or vagina?!). So, anyway, I’m a terrible mom and child care centers should be called what they really are – germ breeding centers using children for science experiments.** 

That leads me to my other monster whom I will now refer to as “the midnight pottier” (not to be confused with partier – though he is that, too). For some reason, unbeknownst to me, Marty has been running into our room in the middle of the night, climbing into bed with us, ripping off his diaper and peeing everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How is it that a kid the height of my shins and the width of my thigh can cover a king size bed in urine?! He’s got to have the Stretch Armstrong of bladders! I seriously don’t even get it. I don’t get his bladder capacity or his obsession with his newest middle-of-the-night adventures. But I guess it makes sense, obviously a whole night’s sleep was just too long to go without being covered in one of my boys’ bodily fluids. After Googling and reading several solutions other parents have used, ranging from Duct tape (….) to backwards footie pajamas with the feet cut off (obviously too much work for me), I’ve decided I should just bite the bullet and do what I absolutely have never wanted to do.

Potty. Train.

I have no idea how this works or where to begin or anything about potty training a small child but I’m pretty sure it can’t be harder than general parenting. I mean, let’s be serious, I’ll never really know what I’m doing. So, I guess maybe I’ll start by letting him romp around in his birthday suit and mentally preparing for everything to be covered in “accidents”?

Sweet fucking jesus.

Give me all of your tips and tricks.

And keep me in your prayers.

Also, have a really, really, really great weekend. <- MOST IMPORTANT.

*For those of you who might need to know, the doctor also suggested Miralax for ongoing constipation – which as it turns out, works a lot better and isn’t at all painful. Weird. Sorry, Bot!