Fear And Pooping in Las Vegas

My life is like a scene from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas right now. I’m in the bathroom and hear Jude singing loudly. I come out and he is dancing around the table like it’s a bon fire, his pants and diaper are around his ankles. In the middle of a circle of strategically placed toys, on the carpet, is a pile of his poop. As I’m taking this all in, he trips on his pants and bumps his cheek on the table.

I scoop him up, amazed there is no poop anywhere else, and comfort him. He sobs the lyrics of Twinkle Twinkle into my neck. I ask him if 8 is great, he says it is, then starts singing that song while I pull his diaper and pants back up. He has peed on the back of his pants but not the front, somehow? I change his pants. I ask if he needs a hug. He pouts and reaches for me. We hug.

He whispers a name into my ear as a single perfect tear rolls down his cheek. Elmo. I get Elmo from his bed and hand it to him and we create a people/monster cuddle sandwich. Better now, I put him down to go clean up the poop that’s been waiting for me on the floor and as I kneel down he climbs onto my back like I’m a pony. ”Giddy-up,” he shouts. Who even taught him that word?

…toddlers are amazing.