I arrive home with my two adorable eating and pooping machines in tow. In my hand I carry a small plastic bag containing one of Sarah's stool samples on a formerly darling onsie. It is nasty but doesn't hold a candle to last weekend when, again attempting to escape naptime, Kate pooped in her pull-ups and then made them pull-downs and created art all over the place. Say what you will, that child can poop on command.
After gingerly opening the plastic bag and dumping its contents into the hamper for later discovery and re-grossing-out, I head to the kitchen to wash my hands (again) and prepare dinner. Kate declares she'd like apple juice and I open the refrigerator to find an already watered down Take n' Toss cup with cover full of it, looking for all the world like a urine sample. "Here you go, dear!" I say, and cringe a bit as she takes a big sip.
Once Kate's dinner is served, I pick up Sarah who has been waiting patiently for her afternoon affection. She locks my entire cheek in a wet, vaguely spitup-scented kiss and slobber actually drips off my jawbone. Then she sticks the fist she's been gnawing on in my mouth before I can lock it closed. Precious.
After dinner, it's time to take Kate upstairs to use the potty (hooray, time to dump the cup of pee out!) and brush her teeth. Did she just drop her toothbrush on the floor, pick it back up and stick it directly back into her mouth? Repress, repress, repress. Potty and toothpaste successfully employed, I usher Kate to bed in her room that smells of Desitin. Seems the cantaloupe I fed Sarah the other day was as unpopular coming out as it was going in. Desitin stinks.
At last both girls are tucked in and quiet. I can head downstairs for some wine and decompression. What on earth is that on the sofa?!? Repress, repress, repress...