Really, I can't figure this one out. Why is it that whenever I am trying desperately to get out of the house with a three year old and a one year old in tow, we have to pause for dual defecation? It never fails, especially if I am late or in a hurry. I swear they coordinate the whole ordeal just to annoy me!
Today, for example, I managed to get Daughter's stocking cap, coat, and shoes on and was next stuffing Son's pudgy little just-turned-one-year-old arms into his coat when I caught a whiff. I had just changed his pants before beginning to layer the kids up in their winter wear. Apparently pulling the coats out of the closet stimulates his colon. So back up the stairs we went for clean britches before heading out. Then it occured to me that Daughter, whose bowels are like clockwork--daily at half-past noon--had not yet moved her bowels, and it was 12:45. I informed her that she needed to produce before we could leave the house and proceded to unwrap her from her coat and stocking cap and set her on the potty. Sure enough, she produced in short order, and I momentarily wondered why she had not told me she needed to do this duty before I had her all bundled up and was ready to herd the brood out the door. "Because she's three!" I told myself, and tried to focus on the fact that I was thankful to have implemented the mandatory "poop before leaving" requirement rather than getting down the road a bit with the one-year-old and the three-year-old wrapped in their winter wear before I heard the three-year-old state, "My tummy hurts!" which is her way of stating, "I need to poop...NOW!" (she tends to wait until the very last minute before caving into the urge). I refused to let myself wonder what exactly I would have decided to do at that moment if that moment had occured.
By this time I had put my own coat on and taken it off multiple times. On before putting on Son's coat...off before changing his pants (I always work up a sweat getting the kids all suited up to leave the house)...on again before realizing that Daughter needed to do her business and off again to assit in the duties (else I'd have REALLY worked up a sweat by the time that was over) and in the end I just carried the darned thing because I was plenty hot without it.
I know this issue has no answers or explanations, and I fully expect it will go down in the annals of parenting mysteries, but I just had to ponder it for a moment.