Sometimes you just need to laugh at all of the crap in your life.

I don't even know where to begin... first off, this post may be way too much information for some of you, but those of you who know me best know that this phrase, while in my vocabulary, is often ignored and I just spill it all anyway. So, here goes...

I had a fabulous day!! Max was a little angel all day. He napped, he laughed, he played independently. I got some things done (!) and all seemed right with the world. Ritchie agreed to go to dinner out and I figured the night would end as happily as it had begun.

One thing I forgot to mention about my day is that I took a very big crap in our upstairs guest bathroom. Now, why on Earth would I tell you this? Well, my readers, that crap is where our lovely evening turned... well, crappy. On Monday, Max made a very big poop. It was so bad that I had to bathe him. In the guest bathroom, which is the only bathroom with a tub. I wiped him down with wipes and threw the wad of wipes in the toilet. (Yes, I know I'm brilliant) Later I told Ritchie that I had clogged the toilet by throwing wipes down and he said he would take care of it. That was Monday.

Fast forward to today and my monstrosity in the very same clogged toilet that, you guessed it, never got taken care of. I have an infant and don't have the luxury of inspecting the toilet prior to crapping to ensure it's not clogged, so sue me. After realizing that I had clogged the toilet even more than I had on Monday I resolved to get the plunger and take care of it immediately. But guys, I have an infant. So that didn't happen. I forgot all about the little toilet that couldn't....

We come home from a lovely evening and Ritchie proceeds up the stairs to give Maxton his bath. All of the sudden I hear, "JAMIE?!" Crap!! Literally, crap.

"I'm going to take care of it!!" I proclaim.

After Max is all bathed and my toes have been properly soaked to clear up the infection from my ingrown toenails (that explanation needs its own post) I go up with the plunger to brave my pungent opponent. I start plunging away, but it doesn't seem to be working.

"Ritchie?" I call.

"What?"

"It doesn't seem to be working!" I yell.

"Do you want me to come and do it?"

"NO! Absolutely not! I don't want you plunging my poo!" I am horrified. Although I will talk about anything, I am actually quite modest about my bathroom endeavors.

"Well, if it's low enough you could try to flush it," Ritchie suggests.

Hmm. It looked low enough. Okay, what the heck. I flush.

"Umm... I don't think that worked!" I yelled before I start shrieking because here it comes out the toilet and onto the floor. Luckily not that much hit the floor.

Then I figured there wasn't much else to do but plunge more and try to fix this problem. So, plunge I did. And overflow it did. This toilet was putting up a good fight. With every plunge it squirted massage amounts of poo infested water over the lid and onto the floor - infiltrating my poor open wounds on my toe as I'm squealing and plunging and, finally, just laughing hysterically. There's water everywhere, quickly making it's way towards the carpeted hallway, and poo bits are splattered all over the bathroom tiles. Ritchie is standing in the doorway holding Max. He is not laughing.

"I don't know what to do!" I'm almost in tears (from laughter, mind you).

"Well, you better get the floor clean right away before it gets to places that can't be easily cleaned."

Right. Okay, so I clean up the floor with towels that Ritchie threw down and paper towels that I retrieved from downstairs. Then I laid down more paper towels and started plunging again. At this point, Max is crying hysterically. This is his new nighttime thing. He just cries. It's maddening. So, I alternate plunging, cleaning, washing my hands, and soothing the baby. Ritchie is about to lose his mind from the crying and the huge mess in the bathroom which he is pissed about. He blames me for not making sure the toilet wasn't clogged before crapping in it. I am mad at him for not fixing the clogged toilet when I first told him about it. We're both tired of the incessant crying.

This goes on for a good 45 minutes. Finally, Ritchie takes over with the plunging and makes progress. One problem down (pun intended). I get Max to stop crying. Ritchie plays with Max while I clean the bathroom using bleach. Twice.

Then Max starts screaming again and I have to wash my hands, lay a towel on the bed to put the feet I've stepped in my own crap on, and feed him to sleep. He finally falls asleep and Ritchie finishes up the bathroom for me. I go downstairs to soak my toes again because, well, they have crap in them now.

Ritchie joins me downstairs and we become delirious. I'm just glad that we're able to laugh at the crap in our lives.