A story about poop, with apologies. You can just be grateful there is no accomanying photo with this one.

This is the kind of story that people without kids never, ever want to hear, and I don't blame them. You may be one of those people even if you have kids. Sorry if this is just too gross for anyone's sensibilities. And don't even bother reminding me that I swore I would never tell stories like this-- I'm so past that now.

This morning I brought Audrey into the bathroom so she could consider the option of using the potty, and as she stood there thinking about it, she pooped on the floor. It startled her so she kind of jumped out of the way, and in so doing, she stepped right into the mess she'd just made. As I scrambled to help her, and to contain the mess, I also stepped in it. Scott (who was trying to catch up on sleep having worked very late the night before) heard me calling for help, jumped out of bed and ran right into the bathroom-- to the rescue!-- and stepped directly into it too. So here we all are, up to our ankles in doo-doo, quite literally, and Scott and I are trying desperately not to scare Audrey or make this a negative potty training experience so we're all like, "Yay! Good for you! Good try!" and smiling like idiots while we try to figure out how to move without getting more of the you-know-what onto ourselves, the wall, the bath mat. It just felt... I don't know. Typical. And crazy at the same time. We all had to have a bath and a number of things had to be sterilized but in the end I think Audrey viewed her performance as a success.

Isn't it a mad, mad, mad, mad world?