So this is one of those "did that really happen" type of events. One of those stories that will be really good to tell Lizzie years from now when I need a little appreciation.
It was two nights ago. We were getting ready for bath time. I stripped her down and noticed that she had some clean clothes that needed to be put away so I set her down. She starts running around her room, a crazy person freed from jail. Pulling books off the shelf, pulling toys out, pulling clothes out as I'm trying to put them away. Next thing I notice a glob on the carpet that looks suspiciously like poop. Then another a short distance away.
And there's Lizzie squatting over a pile of poop slapping it like a puddle of water.
After the initial recoil of horror my next question was "did she eat it?" I didn't see her bring her hands to her mouth, and the marinara sauce beard from dinner didn't offer any clues so I tried not to panic. I simply focused on cleaning up the mess and had Andrew Google "baby eats poop." Finding nothing too alarming (hey, at least we weren't the only ones) we go about our business.
Fast-forward to one in the morning when Poo-pocalypse has turned my sweet baby into into a puke monster. The next six hours go something like this: wake up, puke, sleep, repeat.
By the afternoon she was running around like a crazy person again completely normal while I sanitized every scrap of clothing and every surface in the house. Just in time for Mother's Day.