My husband comes out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower, still with dripping wet hair, and looks at me with utter disdain.
“Babe. Did you seriously poop in the shower?”
I mean, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to this, because clearly, I did not. Like, I’m not sure how to even justify this with an answer. We live with a four year old and a one year old. How, of all the Torrezes, is the 31 year old devoted wife and mother nominated as Most Likely to Poop in the Shower?!?
Me: “No! I didn’t poop in the shower!”
Mike: “Well you were the last one in there, and there was a little poop nugget in the drain”
Me: “WHY WOULD I EVER EVEN DO THAT?!?”
Mike: “I don’t know, why do you do anything you do?”
Me: Head explodes.
As EVERYONE ELSE BUT MY HUSBAND has probably already figured out, a few hours earlier, our one year old did, in fact, poop in the tub. Because that’s kind of a thing for Torrez babies, apparently. And I did my best to clean it up, evacuating both kids from the tub, scooping up the poop (well, most of it anyways I guess), and spraying the whole thing down with Lysol. And I did all this without even sending out a Spousal SOS, for which I probably deserve some kind of medal. At the least, gratitude. But certainly not accusations of some form of shit-related vandalism.
And that got me to thinking about some other “reminders” my husband has given me.
Me: Oh shoot, I just threw out some balsamic vinegar this morning and now I need it for this recipe.
Mike: Don’t dig it out of there, it’s too late.
Like, obviously, hon. I’m not gonna use trash-vinegar on this salad I was planning to serve to company. CLEARLY.
My Husband: Standing Next to My Child, who is sitting precariously in a bike seat attached to a grown-up-sized bike, “You’ve got to watch him when he’s in there, Jaymes. You can’t walk away and just leave him in there.”
WELL YEAH I KNOW, BOO. I didn’t intend to leave my wibbly, wobbly one year old strapped into a fifty-pound piece of metal by himself. Who do you think I am?!?
The baby’s graham cracker falls in the dog’s water bowl.
My Husband: “Don’t give that back to him.”
Good idea, buddy! Thank God you said that, cause I was just about to hand this soggy, dog-water cracker back to our precious fifteen month old. I mean, if it was an apple slice or something I would, but a graham cracker?? Just think of what a mess he would make with it.
On second thought, maybe I get why he thinks I need this kind of advice now. But pooping in the shower?? That just goes too far.