I don't like poop on my hands.

My lay-off has rendered my husband incapable of taking care of himself. Case in point: today I had to take a two year old and a two month old about a mile across town, lug them into the optometrist's office, pick up contacts for Chris, then immediately load them back up and come home. Chris has know for months that he needed to get new contacts, but he didn't. Why? Because, shoot, Cindy just sits at home all day long doing nothing, she can go get them.

Having never taken his children anywhere by himself, he has no idea how irritating it is to go through getting them both to the van and loaded, just to un-do it all about three minutes later. Or to fight a two year old running rampant in a doctor's office while he was carrying a screaming two-month old. Okay, me neither on that point, because Izzy was good in the waiting area, and Sophie just fussed. But it could have happened.

Then, I had to go through getting them back in the van, after having only been out of it for a total of maybe five minutes. Was it that big of a hardship for me? No. Would it have been easier for Chris to have just taken care of it himself? Yep.

So why am I so irritated? Well, partially because it's just too easy to leave stuff alone now, knowing that I will eventually get it taken care of. But mainly because of this:

While I was putting on my make-up to run over to the doctor's office, I asked Izzy to go get me one of his pull-ups, because I figured he'd peed in the one he was wearing. He takes off and comes back in a few minutes and stands beside me, points down the hall and disgustedly says, "Poo poo!" That's when I notice that he's stinky. I look at his hands, and yep, there's the evidence alright. I look down at his shorts which are unfastened and notice that he's naked, and there's poop all over them too. So it's off to shower Izzy again, clean up the mess in the hall-way, wash off the knobs on his dresser, where he'd gotten a clean pull-up out, toss his shorts and a pair of underwear that he'd brought me to put on him and had gotten poop on, into the washer, and then change my own shirt before we could finally get in the van and go to the doctor's office.

That's how come I treated myself to Taco Bell for lunch. Many more days like this and I'm going to weigh 500 pounds.