We transitioned Piper to a “big girl” bed earlier this year to free up the crib for Nash. It was surprisingly painless. Following Nash’s July birth, we also moved the monitor out of her room and into the nursery. Now, before you think we’re bad parents for not keeping all eyes on Piper’s sleep patterns at night, you must understand that the little brick house we bought over the summer has all three of our bedrooms at the end of the hallway together. Basically, Piper can sit in her bed and stare at me… in my bed. It’s creepy. JK. It’s cozy.
When she wakes up, she patiently sits in her bed and yells “Mommy, I’m awakeeeee” until I groggily awaken from my post partum sleep coma and greet her with a big hug, pull her out of bed – and we start the day with a frozen waffle and OJ (bless her… before Nash, she got eggs, sausage and fruit).
However, over the last two-weeks, she has discovered that she can in fact, climb out of her bed and exit her room. She started walking the five steps it takes to get to my room from hers and waking me up with an adorable, “Good morning, mommy! Time to wake up!” But over the last few days, I’ve started waking up to find her playing in the den with her toys, very quietly – or coloring in her coloring books. Strangely good behavior for a two year old, right? I even bragged about it to my husband.
Switching gears – now that I have a toddler and an infant, I don’t have time for my two cats. Judge me, please. I know pets are forever and blah blah blah, but, I can’t keep up with the messes my human children make, so my fur children got moved outside JUST during the day. By default, my litter box stays remarkably clean. Granted, I still have to scoop it every few days, but I’ve been noticing the absence of cat poop as of late (these are the things you pick up on when you’re a SAHM with an infant and little interaction with the outside world).
Stay with me, here. When my husband works in the yard, he likes to come into the house after a long day of conquering the weeds, wielding an axe, blowing the leaves and/or mowing the grass and dramatically announce his completion by removing his filthy yardwork clothes in a pile on the floor in near-ish proximity to the laundry room and making a bee line to the bathroom for a shower. He is Miranda Priestley.
Why does he do this? I don’t know. I’ve filed it under the husband mysteries next to: why he can’t replace the toilet paper roll, why he puts dirty clothes BY the hamper instead of in, why he leaves a wet towel on the bed post-shower, and why he has to poop whenever it’s time to empty the dishwasher. Mind boggling.
So the last time he worked in the yard, he also left his yardwork leather gloves in the pile. I’ve let them sit there for a week…or two. It’s been a while.
Fast forward to today. My children are napping (it’s a miracle). My husband is watching football. I finally gave in during a rabid cleaning frenzy and picked up the yard gloves and to my surprise…a bunch of cat turds fell from them. Turds. Turds in different stages of fossilization. TURDS.
Someone had been going into the laundry room, snagging the cat turds from the litter box, and stuffing them into Tye’s work gloves.
I confronted Piper over dinner. “Pipes… have you been putting poo poos in daddy’s gloves?”
She followed it up with, “they don’t taste good.”
So glad I didn’t scoop the cat box while I was pregnant with her to protect her from Toxoplasmosis.
Tonight, I think we’ll leave her bedroom door closed. And increase her food intake to stave off hunger.