Here's a funny story. It's just like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks were a five year old boy who refused to wear pants.
I'm feeling a little tired today. 38 weeks pregnant, enormous, mean, etc. It's the last day of schoool, both boys were home by 12:30, I figured they could entertain each other if I laid down for a few minutes.
Crawled into bed on my husband's side, turned on the tv (which still doesn't work....screw you Comcast), and carefully arranged all of the pillows to support the massive mounds of flesh that now comprise my body. After making a few adjustments, more pillows under my stomach, one less under my ass, I was feeling reasonably comfortable. Ready for a quick nap. And then I looked to my left.
And there was...something, funky. Something, not right. Something, crusty. There on our fresh, white cotton sheet, was a skidmark. A crusty, nasty, dirty brown skidmark.
My bladder control may suck, but I know for sure that I did not shit in my bed. And I know D. didn't do it, either. In fact, I can say with absolute certainty that the culprit has to be the only member of our family who insists on running around with no pants.
Peanut, why did you wipe your ass on my bed?
Oh, and here's the part I forgot to mention. Peanut has had pants on all day. He was sitting naked on my bed last night. Right up by the headboard. In between our pillows.
D., we slept with shit last night.
Feel free to go wash your face right now. I know I'm washing mine.