Show me now...

I know several people who are trying to sell their homes right now.  Some of whom have actually given up because of this soul sucking real estate market.  So, yes.  I know after selling our house in 31 days that we are pretty much as lucky as lucky can be.


However.  Make no mistake.  This is the New Mom on the Blog house.  So, of course - we had some pretty spectacular (read: disastrous) showings.  The best of all of them?  OUR VERY FIRST.  Thought I'd share this story with you.


{Disclaimer:  Like all disastrous stories involving toddler - this story does involve poop.  Tread lightly.  Wait.  No.  Ew.}


It was the first Saturday morning after our house was on the market and my husband and I were slowly beginning the process of cleaning our house.  The both of us had divided up the list of chores and were going about our business.  I was leisurely scrubbing a toilet and he was absentmindedly dusting in the living room while a very well-behaved TIH played independently with his toys.  (I know, I know.  Get to the point, Gwyneth.)

I was just about finished with the first bathroom when my husband came bounding up the stairs and announced with a certain amount of glee – our agent had called to tell us we had our first showing.

We both did a little happy dance and, noting that we only had about 2 hours to get our house spotless, began to manically scrub every stable surface, both of us giddy with the prospect of our first showing.   In fact, we were so giddy that periodically, we’d pass each other and give a little “Whoo hoo!”  I may have even danced with a mop as I cranked the volume on my favorite Pandora station.  Our house was a chorus of “Whoo hoos!” and “Yays!” and “OUR FIRST SHOWING!!!”  I am generally not this happy and giddy unless it involves a new Twilight movie or several glasses of wine.  (Or, both.)  I was finishing up my cleaning in the last bathroom (this is a very important part of the story to keep in mind - all of my bathrooms were impeccably clean) when my husband came upstairs, holding our toddler away from him as though he was radioactive.

It turns out – he was.

As my husband later explained to me, he was in the middle of doing his own “Whoo hoo” happy dance when TIH walked up to him with a frankly horrified look on his little toddler face.  My husband quickly assessed the situation, asking “What’s wrong, buddy?” when he noticed a little something on the carpet.  On closer inspection, he saw that our son had had the most epically explosive episode of diarrhea in the whole history of ever, and – now this is the really gross part – was literally trailing poo on the carpet of our living room.  The very living room that we were hoping some kind people would come and see and love and purchase from us in approximately 45 minutes.  (New owners: if you're currently reading this?  HA.  No givesies backsies!!)

So, after teaching our son a few curse words, we stripped him of every article of clothing TIH was wearing and promptly threw it away.  We quarantined him into the largest of our bathrooms.  Once we had him undressed, we discovered the poor little guy was, quite literally, up to his neck in poo.  Lord knows why, in our singing, dancing, "whoo hooing" frenzy, we didn't notice.  We hosed him down in the shower while he screamed and cried (and no wonder, my husband and I probably looked INSANE while we dealt with this.)  I worked on drying and cleaning him up while my husband tended to the carpet.  Then we switched and I once again scrubbed down the bathroom.  At this point, I had sweat literally pouring off of me as I hauled the vacuum up flights of steps, shoved laundry into drawers, dusted and Windexed any surface we hadn’t already gotten to, and packed a diaper bag so we could leave the house.  I attempted another happy dance and “whoo hoo,” but it made me look like someone who belonged in the nervous hospital so I stopped immediately.

We walked out of the house with only about a minute to spare.  Praying the potential buyers wouldn’t notice the parts of the house we didn’t get as clean as we would have liked.  Praying we wouldn’t have to go through this for very much longer.  Praying, mostly, that the house didn’t smell like baby poop.


We were about 10 minutes down the road when we received another call from our agent’s office.

The showing agent had decided to cancel.

The disappointment was palpable as my husband made a u-turn back towards our house, looked at me sheepishly, and said, “Whoo hoo?”


The. End.

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