I'll take a bagel, no schmear please.

I'll take a bagel, no schmear please.

I've officially learned the hard way not to open Dylan's door in the morning, mid-breakfast. Today I dined fashionably on a bagel with cream cheese. Or at least half a bagel with cream cheese before completely losing my appetite.

Dylan is knocking from within the confines of his bedroom for me to release the beast that is, well, him. I open the door to find smear. Poop smear actually.

I have yet to understand the infatuation this child has with pooping and then subsequently ramming his right hand down the backside of his pants to create stinky masterpieces on the walls, bed, door, play table and his own mug. I'm assuming it has something to do with being a boy?

While gagging for the entire duration of the cleanup and disinfecting of what seemed to be EVERYTHING used on a regular basis, I attempted to continue eating my bagel. Even after washing my hands in a surgical manner (I'm talking all the way up the forearms with an intense scrubbing regime firmly in use), I still was catching gigantic whiffs of poo smell whenever bringing my bagel slice to my pie hole.

Apparently, I was done with breakfast. Apparently I'm also done with consuming any more food for the remainder of this Wednesday.

Poor Steve is probably going to have to spoon feed me dinner.

xo,
Jess

P.S. In providing this post with a relevant photog, I hopped on Google to search for "smear" or "streak". The search resulted in pictures of pap smear diagrams and nude streakers. Fail.