A Little Bit of Quiet Time

My daughter loves purses. In fact, she loves anything she can carry around while pretending it's a purse - shoes (the laces are excellent purse straps), her book that has ribbons attached to it (thanks, Aunt Marie), and any type of bag.

Now that we have that clear, let me get to the point. A couple of days ago, Juliet was being exceptionally needy and clingy...it was driving me nuts. She had been yelling at me all day. She insisted on climbing into the dishwasher while I tried to do dishes. She got a hold of my not so empty soda can while I left her alone for all of two minutes. She wanted up and down out of her high chair every five minutes. She stole my phone away from me and hung up on my mom when I tried to call her to complain. I was done. Don't get me wrong, I love my child, but when she finally wandered off by herself I was elated. I took that opportunity to start making dinner. After several minutes, I realized (with dread) that she was being very quite. Not wanting her to see me and subsequently attach herself to my leg again I decided I would stealthily take a peek at her to make sure she was okay. I tiptoed into the living room. She wasn't there. I peeked around the corner into her bedroom. There she was playing with the box of new diapers I had left on the floor. Then I realized, no, she was not playing with the new diapers. She was playing behind the new diapers. She was playing with the dirty diapers from the diaper pail. She had managed to loop them (yes, multiple) over her arm and was carrying them around like purses. Then, to my (further) horror, I noticed an empty diaper on the floor that had clearly once contained poo. After performing a quick and frantic search for the diaper's lost filling, I noticed the smeared poo all over the diaper pail. Apparently, Juliet had not been interested in the poo (to my relief). She had tossed it back into the diaper pail - but not before smearing it inside and out. Keep in mind that all of this took place in about five seconds. Meanwhile, the child was standing there (poop purse still slung over her arm) looking alternately at me and at her opening and closing poo-smeared hands.

It was a good thing for all parties involved that Dan came home just at that moment. "Go show your dad what you did!" I said, pointing toward the door. "But don't touch anything!" She took a couple of steps (poop purse still intact) and turned back to stare at me. "Daniel! Get in here!" I bellowed. So in came Dan to the rescue. With two of us on the job he was able to plop her in the tub while I disinfected her room.