Wherein I talk about poop....

One day last week, I decided to make brownies. Why? Because they're delicious. Because they're chocolaty and gooey and sumptuous. Because they were on sale and everyone knows I can't resist a sugary bargain. Plus, I had a helper. Two if you count the one that clung to my legs and tried to crawl up my body to get a peek at the batter that Ava and I joyfully stirred.

Since Hudson couldn't maturely manage the wait, I scooped him up, loved on him a bit, and then plopped him in his highchair for the remainder of our prep time. He happily watched us while playing with an assortment of kitchen utensils and Yo Gabba Gabba toys.

Did I mention he'd had blueberries for lunch? Lots and lots of blueberries? Oh, yeah, and he hadn't had a bowel movement yet either. See where this is going?

Ava and I whipped up the brownie batter, set the timer, and considered licking the bowl. Then Erik arrived on the scene and pretty much wiped out the bowl. My husband likes brownies, but he loves the raw batter from the bowl. Let's just say, all of us were covered with random bits of brownie batter. It happens.

Hudson was so content in his highchair that I just let him play on. After washing her hands, Ava disappeared into the playroom. Then Erik sat with the Bub while I cleaned the kitchen up a bit. At one point, I left the room. In my absence, Erik apparently decided highchair time was over, and removed Hudson from captivity.

This is where it gets interesting.

Minutes passed. I was in the bathroom, where I had washed my hands and changed my messy shirt. Out of nowhere, I heard a high-pitched shriek, followed closely by the desperate appearance of my daughter. Near tears, she held her hands out to me.

Ava: Look at my hands! What is this?

I looked. They were covered in brown gooey stuff.

Me: I thought you washed your hands! That's brownie batter.

Ava: I did! It's not!

Me: Just lick it off, Ava, it's batter.

Ava: No! Smell it!

Still clueless, I took a whiff (thankfully not a lick!) of this foreign substance and immediately realized my mistake. Now I shifted seamlessly into disaster mode.

Me: Where did you get this?

Ava: I was playing with Hudson! In the playroom!

Me: ERIK!!!

Turns out Hudson had done more than play in his highchair, and since Erik had been dealing with sinus issues, he had failed to notice—er, smell—the results. So he let Hudson happily traipse all through the house. Which would've been fine, if his diaper hadn't utterly failed him. We weren't really prepared, because this never happens. I don't think Hudson even had a blow-out when he was a baby. Plus, we didn't account for those blueberries.

We powwowed in the living room and discovered a sieve of “batter” pouring from Hudson's pant leg. Unfortunately, he had already done much damage to his clothing and our floors. Luckily, we work well under pressure.

Ava washed her hands. Again.

I carried an uncooperative Hudson into the bathroom and deposited him in the tub, where he took an impromptu bath.

Erik gathered cleaning supplies and went on a disinfecting safari.

Minutes later, the oven timer went off. Our brownies were ready! Of course, after taking them out to cool, studying their familiar color and texture, I just couldn't do it. None of us could. We stared at those otherwise perfect brownies and ruminated. Maybe next time. Tonight, we had a total and utter brownie fail.

It happens.