For Richer or Poorer, In Excrement and Vomit, Until Death do us Part

I know sometimes I've painted my wedded union with my husband as being all rainbows and roses, and of course it is not always this way. Like all married couples, there are issues, arguments and frustration on both sides, but I try to document mostly the positive. There are three reasons for this. The first reason is that I am trying to showcase mostly the positive outlook I have on life on my blog (especially since I am not always the most positive person in real life). The second reason being that I love Mr. Bee, and I don't want to talk negatively of him on my blog, unless in jest. The third reason being that practically everyone I know reads or has read my blog before, even the men, (most of the time under duress from their wives, but still, they have).

Anyway, my husband and I have a great relationship, but it has its ups and downs. Right now, it's a little bit of a down time. Work is stressful for both of us, and the kids have been challenging. Combine that with a lack of money and time alone, and it has created a bermuda triangle of argumentativeness. I will admit the argumentativeness is mostly from my side, but Mr. Bee has been known to snap as well. Stress will do that to you.

This week in particular has been rough. Mr. Bee has worked 38 hours in three days. I'm premenstrual, and the birth control I am on makes me have some nasty mood swings and ridiculous amounts of tiredness during this time of month. It's been tense.

That all changed today. We bonded through some absurdly disgusting stuff. The vomit and the excrement. Let me start from the beginning:

This morning at about 7am I go into Jacob's room to wake him up. He is already standing in his crib. Jacob lets out a little cry and whines. "Poopy, Mommy."

"Aw, baby," I say as I smell a putrid smell that only Moms can recognize as "diarrhea hot ass" smell. It smells like Indian food and vomit baked in a 350 degree oven with garbage. "I know, Jacob. Let's change it quickly."

Another cry escapes his lips. "Poopy."

I change his diaper and try not to dry heave. It is that terrible. It's not totally loose, but it's still really nasty. Thankfully Mr. Bee has put him in a disposable diaper the night before. Thank goodness for small miracles, I think, as I grimace thinking of the alternative scenario with cloth diapers, which would have included washing the diaper out in the laundry tub and more dry heaving.

I haul the trash can up from the curb, throw the putrid diaper in it and rush to work. It never even occurs to me that Jacob might be sick, that the diaper was not a one-off bout of diarrhea, until I get the call from School at noon, telling me he had two more loose stools, which means that if he has one more I would have to pick him up. I knew I had a lot to try and accomplish at work, so I call Mr. Bee, who promises to try and get out of work if or when Jacob decimates another diaper. I never get another call, though and I pick Jacob and Drew up from school and bring them home immediately after work, as opposed to waiting for Mr. Bee to pick them up. Once at home, Jacob seems fine. Mr. Bee picks up dinner and I tell him to pick up a slice of pie for Jacob, Drew and me to split. (You know where this story is going, don't you? I didn't really think he was sick!)

As Mr. Bee is pulling into the driveway, Drew runs to the bathroom to go poop. I walk in there behind Jacob (who of course needs to be in the bathroom with all pooping individuals). Immediately I notice that somehow, Drew has gotten poop on my towel. My beige towel. Disgusting. I try to pretend it's chocolate and grab it to be thrown into the wash, and shoo Jacob out of the bathroom. Mr. Bee comes in with food, thank goodness because the whole Bee clan is staaaahving. Jacob and I sit down to eat, and Mr. Bee goes to change his clothes(unspoken rule of the Bee house- change into PJ's the moment you arrive home). "Hi Drew!" Yells Mr. Bee through the bathroom door.

"Hi Daddy! I'm done going poopy."

"Okay, do you need help?"

{Muffle, inaudible} "Yeah."

Mr. Bee enters the room. "Oh Drew, it's everywhere. Honey, why is their poop on your hands, and on the wall? All over your butt?" Mr. Bee continues to clean Drew, giving me a running commentary about all of the crevices Drew has deposited poop in my clean bathroom while I simultaneously eat and shoo Jacob away from said bathroom. So appetizing, the commentary, yet I'm staaaahving so I finish quickly so I can help and Mr. Bee can eat, so we tag team the poop clean.

Finally we are ALL sitting at the table, with no poop on our hands and food in our mouths. (Are you as grossed out by that sentence as I am?) The children finish their food, and therefore earn their sliver of pie. Jacob gets only two bites down before it all comes back up. I am standing by him and catch a majority of the vomit in a paper towel and we run and wash Jacob down in the bathroom. Pie comes shooting out of his nose as crocodile tears stream down his face. Mr. Bee gives him a big hug, and we discuss the possibility of us both taking half days, and tag teaming staying home with Jacob. Then Mr. Bee asks if he can please go take a shower. I laugh and agree and tell him about my poopy towel. We giggle as two people in the throes of chaos only can. The week of tenseness is forgotten as we bond over poop and vomit.

The moral of the story? Situations like these are how I know we will last through the long haul. The couple that jokes and bonds over vomit and feces is the couple that stays together.

(On a whole other topic- seriously blogger spellcheck, you don't consider poopy a word? WTH?)