There's a lotta poop talk, followed by pregnancy stuff, followed by some Army updates, with some random photos thrown in for good measure

Today started off well enough- I got up and changed Sam's diaper, and was blessed with no poop! Yes! It's obviously going to be a good day when it doesn't START with poop. So we go downstairs and start breakfast and clean dishes and begin our morning routine.

Then Steve beebops in from PT and says, "Have you let the dogs out yet?"
Nope.
"Oh. Because one of them pooped in there (the laundry room). I'm not sure if it was Odie or Marci, but I was on my way out, so I didn't clean it up."

Yes, this does appear to be some modified version of The Stink Eye, but in fact, Sam now squints before every picture I take of him. Usually I can wait him out, but I sometimes think they're funny and just take squinty pictures anyway. Although, in the context of what we're currently discussing, it's total Stink Eye.

Well, that's just great. So I try to finish my breakfast (that coincidentally, looks kinda like poop) and go assess the damage. Well. I know EXACTLY whose bowels are capable of holding so much and it was NOT my dog. And it wasn't just poop. Oh no. It was DIARRHEA. COME ON. At first (before I ventured inside the laundry room), I was ticked at the dogs for pooping in the house. Especially since we were outside A LOT yesterday. But after seeing that it was one of those poops that is not under anyone's physical control, my anger redirected itself towards the person who couldn't even be bothered to throw a paper towel over it and let the offender outside. Because seriously? It was pretty fowl in there. And yes, I know that Waste Management is just one of the many colorful hats I wear as SAHM, but that was just awful. He must know that I am all out of nesting-type things to do, because after the initial Clorox cleanup that took place in there, I felt the overwhelming urge to Shark the floors. Diarrhea in my laundry room is like a cue from the heavens for some good ol' steam-cleanin'.  So Sam and I busted that baby out and went to town. My floors are now sparkly and sanitized and the poopers are still out in the backyard.

Oh, by-the-way, I'm still pregnant. I'm sure you had guessed that already since I'm talking about poop and not a baby. And I thought I was all ready to go. I had my bag packed and I keep my iPod charged and there's still enough fudge in the fridge to artfully arrange on a plate and pass off as "full". But the other day I walked by my hospital bag and took a look inside. I am only packing a coming home outfit (since I prefer to "dirty up" the hospital's pj's over my own; plus they have such handy little snaps and ties located every which-a-way), but my coming home outfit included a SWEATER. HA. So laughable since it's now hitting mid to upper 80s. The sweater was replaced with a dress, I rearranged my wine again, made sure I packed a toothbrush, and can't stop noticing how empty that bag is. Besides things I have to throw in last-minute (chargers, camera, etc), what am I missing? I have two baby outfits here at the house (one girl and one boy) and whoever is here will wash the appropriate one and bring it to the hospital, so I don't need anything baby-wise. Help? Maybe? Should I just pack more wine?

I'd pack him if he weren't covered in barbeque sauce.

In other news, today is the day that my beloved is officially a First Lieutenant. Luckily they keep that whole LT thing up for a while, because I don't want to rename this here blog. Unfortunately though, I don't have any pinning pictures for you. Ya see, the Army has a thing about paperwork. They want it. A TON of it. And when orders get amended (like Steve's did way back when), they sometimes lose some of that important paperwork. Or it slips through the cracks. And people forget to put your husband on the list of "promotable people" for the month. So then he has to wait until next month to go through the little ceremony. It's just one more month I get to soak up my Butterbar. I sure will be sad to see that little yellow patch go. It's been one fun year (SARCASM SARCASM I AM BEATING YOU WITH THE SARCASM), but it's time to move on. The super-duper bright side to this mishap is the fact that once he does finally get pinned, I will (HOPEFULLY) no longer be pregnant! Yes! Will most likely still be gigantic, but not as gigantic as if I was 9+ months pregnant!! So that's the silver lining. Shallow? Oh yes, completely. But it's a silver lining nonetheless.