Doodie Booty

It’s Sunday morning and we’re getting our kids ready for church in a whirlwind, like aways. If you have kids you know the routine: bathroom, breakfast, get dressed, bathroom again, race out the door, try not to get into a fight in all the chaos (we’re on our way to church after all).

So there I am, getting my 10-month-old dressed. He’s real wiggly so it’s not easy. What’s worse is I like him to wear shoes when we go out, which is totally unnecessary as he’s not quite walking on his own yet. But I like him to look like a real person in public and not like we just got him out of bed. Putting the shoes on is a real challenge. It requires a delicate balance of tying them tight enough so he doesn’t kick them off and not cutting the blood off to his extremities.

Anyway, I talk to him to keep him focused on me and less wiggly. I just say what comes to mind. And then I realize what I said:

“OK, Carson. You need to be a good boy at church today for the ladies. I don’t want to hear any whining when I drop you off this time. You’ll be just fine. You’re going to have lots of fun with all those new toys and you’re friends…And try to do your once-a-day giant poop (doodie booty, as we call it) at church so they have to change it and not me. It’s disgusting!“

I meant it. Was that wrong?