Just as I was walking around all puffed-up, feeling as if I was finally entering the technological age, I stepped right into "it". That's right, there are all sorts of indignities when potty training a 2 year-old. Sophie has decided to wear panties and, when Sophie decides something, well, we've learned to go with it. I'm so desperate to be done with over 9 straight years of diapers that I'm, probably unwisely, following the lead of Queen Sophie. Needless to say, this pint-size tyrant continues to bring me to my knees. She's tinkling in the potty, but continues to fill her nice, clean panties with oodles of poop.
I pride myself on being able to change poopy diapers like a champ, almost always avoiding contact with said feces. However, this night I am completely distracted with beginning my blog and I failed miserably to focus on the location and consistency of Sophie's "gift." As I was trying to peel off her Elmo panties without smearing the poop all over her legs, my nicely manicured nails slipped and my entire hand became immersed in, covered with, and totally stinkified by her poop. Having begun to practice law, I decided to invest in my professional look by getting gel nails. I have been schooled in just how much fecal matter can lodge itself under fine, professional nails. Tomorrow? Manicure.
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