I cannot win!

Just shy of one week of wearing a tube sock securely taped above the elbow on her left arm had stopped Rosie’s finger-sucking (and prevented high orthodontist bills in the future). Just to prevent any compensation using her other hand, I’ve also been ‘socking’ her right hand at bedtime. I cannot put it past her to suddenly switch to sucking on her right-hand fingers. An added bonus: With her hands trapped, Rosie seemed ill-equipped to get to her diapers. She loves to streak through the living room in all her apple-cheeked glory.
Since we were out late last night for Date Night, I figured that Rosie would sleep late this morning.

Boy was I wrong.

I didn’t even set the alarm clock. I had closed Rosie’s bedroom door, knowing that while she could reach the knob and make it rattle, she still was unable to actually turn it. The familiar rattle of the doorknob woke me this morning, and as I was throwing off the sheets, a familiar odor hit me. Oh no. It couldn’t be. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

The smell grew stronger as I neared Rosie’s room. When I opened the door, I was met by a sweet-smiling, poop-smeared toddler, who was sans apparel except for the preventive socks. At that moment, simultaneously, Rosie said her very first sentence: “Mah-Mah, POOP!”, and she darted past me and headed for the leather sofa. I darted to the bathroom to start filling the tub for an all-out decontamination. I was still reeling from the sweet smile/pooptastrophe/first meaningful words combination, so when I made it into the living room, she was still smiling, seated in the middle of the sofa. I pulled the tube socks off her arms, then tossed them in the trash. You cannot prevent everything, I say.

When Rosie has raided her own diaper before, I would normally hold my daughter with stiff arms, and while refusing to give into the urge to barf, seat her in the empty bathtub then begin running water. Not today. I was so overwhelmed with love and pride for my baby who had not spoken more than gibberish before today. My heart was flooded and my usual frustration swept away by the emotional tide that this milestone moment evoked. I kissed her on the only part of her tiny body that was not contaminated (the very top of her head) before I carried Rosie, stiff-armed, to the bathtub. I plunked her in the bathtub, scrubbed every inch of her, redressed her, then tackled the fecal fallout in her room. Most importantly, she survived, I survived, and we managed not to wake anyone else in the house. I am done with trying to divert my baby’s finger-sucking. I figure that she’ll have to keep them out of her mouth to say her vows, pledge her eternal love, then kiss her beloved husband. Until then, let Rosie have ’em!


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