Shamrock Shakes

Note: Shamrock Shakes are not meant for tiny bellies.  I wish I had known this prior to deciding to surprise Patrick with his very first green delight.  From the back of the car, I heard, "Wow, Mom.  This is pretty good."  I smiled to myself.  Success.

That is, until we got home.  The Shamrock Shake was gone, with just the little remnants left in the bottom of the cup that the straw could not reach.  Patrick started to cry out of the blue.  "Oh, Mom.  It hurts.  It's my belly.  I have a baby girl in there and she's disgusting.  She makes my belly hurt so bad."  I asked if he thought maybe it was his shakemilk (I know) that was making him feel sick.  Naturally, that idea was dismissed.  It had to be the girl baby. 

Fast forward a few minutes (and stop reading here if you're easily disgusted.)  Patrick is in the back room watching a movie.  I hear him say, "I'm just trying not to poop.  It's ok."  I suggested that he run to the bathroom.  Instead, he waddles out of the back room with the most terrible expression on his face.  Poop is dripping out both pant legs.

You have got to be kidding me.  And in his cutest jeans?  Curse it all to hell.

He was crying.  I was laughing.  Indy was trying to figure out what parts of the clean-up debacle were edible (he's the disgusting one.)  As I type this, Patrick is singing in the tub (I'm in the hallway again.)  Note to self...lactose in large doses does not serve these children well.  I thank God that I am not made queasy by poop, but I would be happy to not be up to my elbows in it so often.