Motherhood is Glamorous

Today, for "school," Miriam and Cowen sat on my glamorous lap while we watched YouTube videos. Mostly the Swedish chef from the Muppets (culture) and people playing the harp because Miriam is fixated on learning to play the harp (music appreciation). And maybe a little Irish dancing thrown in (more culture). There was that one batman video, but we don't need to talk about the educational value of that.

While Cowen was sitting on my lap, he had an accident. An "accident" is a term we glamorous mothers use when we have young children who cannot for any number of bizarre reasons pee in the toilet and instead choose to pee fully clothed. In this case, on my still glamorous, but sodden, leg.

When I noticed the problem, I sent Cowen to the bathroom to strip down and use the toilet. Then I swung my glamorous hair behind my glamorous shoulder, and continued to watch the Swedish chef with my beautiful daughter. (Of course, when you reach my level of glamor it becomes physically impossible to produce a child that is not breathtakingly beautiful.)

Then Cowen returned, still naked from the waist down, and being a liberal and glamorous mother I was okay with that (it being better than waking Emeline up to procure fresh clothing), and let him climb back onto my lap. We happily watched an Irish dancer compete with a sea lion (that gets a double whammy for educational value--culture and animal studyology) before I noticed a strange smell. I looked down at my glamorous bluejeans, and over top the crusted on boogers from a variety of noses, I noticed POO!

Poo is NOT glamorous. It really, really isn't. My son had not pooed on me. Oh no. I realized that when I entered the bathroom and saw the poo smeared on the toilet seat that in actuality, my ?beautiful? son had pooed in the correct spot, forgotten to call me and ask me to wipe his bottom (in Cowenese that sounds like: Mom, na na bum bum), and then sat on me with the remains of his bathroom visit still attached.

That is okay though because for truly glamorous mothers, like myself, we still look good--even covered in poo.