Why I can't post a title, I do not know. This shall be the untitled post that should have been named, Who's in the bathroom?

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As I was rocking Mateo to sleep tonight, my husband was milling around in the hallway, mumbling to himself, and, I assumed, getting mad at the cats. Then I heard him shooing someone away and telling them to get lost.

I put Mateo down in his crib and walked into our room. I looked in the hallway, and there was Zoe with her paw and one eye looking under the bathroom door. The light in the bathroom was on, but my husband was in the kitchen, doing dishes. I did a cartoon double-take at the bathroom door, then at my husband, when he said, "Sophia's in the bathroom."

Huh? I thought. Why is Sophia in the bathroom? Better yet, why does my husband know Sophia's in the bathroom and this is okay?

"Sophia's in the bathroom," I said.

He gave me a look that looked like he was about to turn on a dime any second, depending on what I said after that.

"What was I supposed to do!" he exclaimed, his eyes bugging.

"Not put her in the bathroom?" I said.

I walked to the door, opened it a crack, saw Sophia hunkered down, waiting to make a break. I gently pushed her away so I could get in the bathroom with her when I saw the poo log on the floor. I got in, closed the door and took some toilet paper to pick up the poo log, which I then deposited into the toilet.

I grabbed Sophia, put her on the toilet lid and lifted up her bushy cat tail. She had another long poo log stuck in the depths of her fuzzy butt hair. I grabbed some more toilet paper and gently grabbed for the log. This, of course, made Sophia crazy, and she immediately turned and bit my wrist while letting out a mad cat growl.

I grabbed her neck fur so I could remove the poo log, which I did, and put that in the toilet as well. After flushing the toilet, I gave Sophia's butt a once over and then let her out of the bathroom.

Zoe was at the door the whole time, so Sophia took her craziness out on Zoe by chasing her off into the bedroom.

And still, to this time, my husband is brooding over the fact that Sophia had poo logs stuck to her fluffy butt hair and he didn't know what else to do but put her in the bathroom and wait for me to wonder who was in the bathroom and why Zoe was so interested.

How we parent

Okay, this really isn't a post about how my husband and I parent, but more about how we are similar in thought when certain things happen with Mateo.

This morning Mateo woke up about 6am, so I went into his room, fed him, changed him, changed his clothes because he spit up on his pjs, and then took him into our room to wake up my husband. While Mateo was chattering away and smiling like the smiley boy he is, he started his morning poo. His morning poo soon turned into the brink of a morning poo explosion, so I scooped him up and took him back into his room for a diaper change.

While I was getting a fresh diaper from the drawer, Mateo pooed even more, so I knew the poo had to of leaked out at this point. I flipped his legs up and by doing so, all the excess poo that hadn't been soaked up yet dribbled out the top of his diaper and pooled in his onesie.

"Oh NO!!!" I said a bit loudly. Mateo looked at me like he wasn't sure if I was really yelling or just being silly, so I smiled and said, "Oh NO!"

Then I realized since so much poo had pooled in his onesie, it was going to be hard getting the onesie off without getting poo all over him. I started yelling for help, and soon help (aka my husband) walked into the room. I told him to get a plastic bag so I could put the onesie in it (yes, it was that bad), and then spray it with Oxiclean (thanks, sis) in the bathroom.

"I'm not sure how to do this," I said. "No matter how I try to get this off of him, he's going to get poo all over himself."

My husband said, "Cut it off of him."

This is how we think the same.

I grabbed the scissors from the drawer and started cutting from the bottom to the top. After the onesie was split, I took Mateo's arms out of the sleeves, lifted him up, and pulled the onesie out from under him. I threw the onesie into the plastic bag my husband held, cleaned Mateo up, and put another onesie on him.

When under pressure, it's just easier for us to throw out stuff than try to save it. Yes, I know, not good for the environment and it's like throwing money away, but too bad, I say. When the poop has pooled in the onesie, the onesie's outta there.

Boy of a million poops

Mateo has a poop routine, and like most people, he needs to have a good poop in the morning. This usually happens after his 4 or 5 am feeding. So this morning was like all the others, and he had his usual poop explosion after spending a minute or two farting up a storm.

I took him into his room to change his diaper. When I took off his sleep sack and unsnapped his onesie, I realized the poo went all the way up his back, all over the back of his onesie and soaked into the sleep sack.

Okay, I thought. Gotta get a plan. So I wiped up his bottom and his back, kept holding his legs in the air while I manoeuvred the onesie off of him enough so I could lay him down again. I took a look at what was going on downstairs since I'm always on the lookout for peeing, and that was exactly what he was starting to do. I grabbed what I thought was the cloth I keep handy for such occasions, but it ended up being the burp cloth I was using for today. I kept it there and let it soak up the pee.

After a good wipe down, I got him changed into footed pj's. I stuck him in his crib so I could go and spray his soiled onesie and the sleep sack. He was having a grand time watching his mobile, while I was taking care of his clothes. I decided to just wash his soiled clothes and went back into his room to grab more light blue clothes for the wash. I had left his door open, and both Sophia and Zoe were in his room.

I got the items for washing together and put them to wash. I went back into Mateo's room to find Zoe eating cat puke. Sophia was a few feet away looking perturbed, and Zoe was chowing down.

Great, I thought.

I grabbed Zoe, walked into the kitchen to get some paper towels, went back into Mateo's room, dropped Zoe and cleaned up the cat puke. I left to throw it away and when I came back, Zoe was licking the rug where the puke was. I shooed her out of the room, grabbed the rug cleaner and a towel, and cleaned up the puke spot.

All this happened while my husband was in the shower. When he got out of the shower, Mateo and I were in our bed, like nothing happened during that last 15 minutes.

"He dirtied his clothes?" my husband asked.

Um, yeah. You could say that.

"Uh oh. I think he went poo."

My husband decided after the first week of bringing Mateo home that he was no longer going to change Mateo's diapers unless it was absolutely necessary. I'm not sure why, but I've heard plenty of excuses, the main one being that Mateo doesn't like how my husband changes Mateo's diaper and Mateo cries. I keep telling him that Mateo gets mad at me too sometimes, it's just hit or miss.

So then my husband started with, "Uh oh, I think he went poo," whenever he was holding holding him for a bit. The first time I quickly took Mateo into his room and took his diaper off. All the time accusing him of being a stinky boy. When I got the diaper off, there was no poo. I changed him regardless and then told my husband that what he thought was poo was just farts. Then, mysteriously, I'd end up holding Mateo while my husband was running around doing as he pleased.

Then it happened again. And then again. And then I finally wised up. I realized that when my husband said, "Uh oh. I think he went poo," that meant, "Um, I'm kinda tired of holding him and sitting on the couch. I want to do other things. You take him now and I'll hold him later on tonight, like way later on."

Tonight my husband was holding him and he said that Mateo went poo. I didn't believe him, but took him anyway. Turns out he did go poo. But I already informed my husband I figured out what his evil plot was when he tells me Mateo pooed and that he was going to have to come up with something else to pass Mateo onto me.

I, myself, am starting to wise up, and I run away when he does take him and hold him, just so I can get a few minutes alone to myself without having to worry about Mateo and his needs. I mean, I do it all day and all night, pretty much, I'm allowed, aren't I? Five minutes?