Today was my second Mother's Day. I really didn't expect any surprises this year. My mother, God love her soul, had already given me my gift certificate for an hour long massage. And E is only 17 months old, so other than the obligatory handprint on construction paper that they do in sunday school every year, I wasn't expecting him to throw down much of a party in my honor.
So imagine my surprise when I went to get him out of his crib this morning to find that he had "fingerpainted" pictures on his bedroom wall for me!
This would have been fine except that when I say "fingerpainted" I really mean "smeared poo on." Yes, my sweet little man has realized that he doesn't like the feel of a wet diaper, and that he can take care of said problem by ripping it off and throwing it in the floor. To fuel the fire, he had a VERY LARGE dinner last night, proven by the many turds laying in his bed. He had good fun with a few of them though...and by the time I got to the show it took 12 baby wipes just to clean a patch of him enough to lift him out of the masterpiece and throw him in the tub.
However, as I was scrubbing him with reckless abandon, he did lay his soapy little head on my shoulder and hug me tightly, patting me with a now sterile hand.
Considering the agony of the drama, the finale was pretty darn good. :)
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