Okay, I'm not even going to screw around. I'm just going to jump right in to the shit show.

Spoiler Alert: not an accidental choice of words.

Duke's been driving me banana crackers for the last week or so, because he's kind of like a dog and he can sense fear. Or anxiety, whatever. I've had my hands full with a few unrelated things, and he's concurrently in this really trying phase. I think it's his age probably, but he just pushes every boundary to see just how far he can go and what I'm going to do in response. And I'm very cognitive that how I respond today is going to pave the road for just how scared he is of me when he's 16 and feels the same desire to boundary hop. So I'm trying to get a handle on that mom look that says "I will kick your ass to the moon." Just the look, that's all, because I'm really more verbal than physical and so I need to set the look right now so he always believes it's in my back pocket without knowing it's never actually been there.

Anyway. It's kind of like the maternal Blue Steel. I'm working on my look and it's kind of an ongoing process.

So, fast-forward to today. Duke hasn't slept well for two nights now for no apparent reason, but that's not the main point. Just a key driver in why he was behaving like a little turkey all morning. He woke up chipper as can be around 5am, but by 9, he was just salty little mix of bad attitude and delirious exhaustion. He's got a face that he's been working on, too. It's called the Watcha Gonna Do About It Lady? And he's been practicing it a lot.

At 11, I decided it was time for a nap. I did what I always do - which is my legal defense here. This is our routine and the following story has never occurred before and I cannot be held responsible. I gave him a bottle, tucked his little blanket around his whole body and kissed him approximately 92374937 times.

Now, usually, he'll cry for a few minutes, realize I'm not changing my mind and then just crash for a few hours. This time, he skipped the cry and that's when I should have known.

Ten minutes later when I came to check on him, he greeted me at the door with all three of his vocab words.

"Hey mom. Poop!"

This is not a drill. He dug poop out of his diaper and it would probably be quicker to tell you what he didn't cover, rather than what he did. You guys, it was everywhere. I had to get a nail file out so I could clean under his fingernails. HIS FINGERNAILS!!! And that's when I hopped in a metaphorical car,  cut right to the passing lane, and headed straight for my third breakdown this week, while he smiled at me from the passenger seat, flashing that sweet face that says Whatcha Gonna Do About It, Lady?

Jesus, take the wheel.

***

Hey! It's Friday. There are very few holy things in this world, but Friday night is one of them and I am here for it.