Poops, I did it again.

I do realize that my loyal readers (all 5 of you) are going to think that I'm obsessed with poop and shit, but it's been an over the top week of poop. And sometimes, when you just think you've gotten a handle on this parenting thing, it all goes to shit.

On Tuesday night, during a rather unremarkable dinner out in the Old Town with Dad and the SIL, the Captain started getting agitated and began tossing his dinner roll and throwing cutlery. He suddenly tipped to his side and went all red in the face. Although we knew the Eagle had landed, we let him sit for a few more minutes as he happily picked up his bread and began snacking away. As a sidebar, I find nothing grosser than pooping and eating; but I digress. We finally took the Captain out of his booster seat and his pants were fairly soaked through. Dad and I cowered on the floor of the bathroom and alternatively dealt with his hand/shoe dipping into the mess. Course, we felt like bone heads because we haven't carried spare clothes in months. The Captain had to suffer the indignity of a trip home in a diaper, sneakers and a jacket. Pretty much a scandal in the town where babies wear linen suits to play in the park.

...but that wasn't the best part.

Yesterday, I put the Captain down for a nap in his diaper and a t-shirt. As I was writing yesterday's entry, I didn't respond straight out when he started yelping for me to come. Finally I go and he's standing in the crib, no diaper and a little puddle next to his leg. I pulled all his bears and blankets out of the crib before anything gets peed on again and suddenly notice a 3 inch turd sitting on the mattress. The little man actually managed to drop the bomb within the 20 seconds it took me to clear away his sleep accouterments. So I pick him up and note it's all over his legs too. Long story short, I clean him up, clean the bedding, no harm, no foul.

But there's an epilogue. Oh, it wasn't over for your friendly narrator. Not by a long shot.

An hour or so later I decide to take the Captain to the Corte Ingles, a fairly upscale Harrod's-type department store in Spain. I was dressed nice, but not flash, and I was most intrigued by the number of people checking me out. Frankly, I find it odd when anyone checks me out with a child in tow, but Spanish men really don't care so I just figure it's not unusual. I spent about an hour roaming before I picked up an outfit to try on. And suddenly, I spied myself in a mirror.

Now, have I mentioned my enormous breasts? They are quite large. So large that they could, say, shield my view of anything in my waist area. And so, while you would think that I would have noticed the large shit stain smeared across my shirt, it seemed to have narrowly escaped my view. Sadly for me, most of the shopping clientele at Valencia's Corte Ingles do not have large knockers blocking their view.

So the lesson Mom's and Dad's? Parenting should never be so time consuming that you can't do a last minute check before walking out the door. Words to live by.