If you had been outside my house around lunchtime you would have heard a very excited voice screaming, “Ladies and Gentlemen…we have SOLID POOPY!” at the top of her lungs. If you had been spying on me, you would have seen me doing a little dance with my daughter in my arms singing, “We have solid poopy! We have solid poopy!” and shaking my hips as though we were part of a Conga line moving through my living room.

(sidenote: Why does Firefox think “Poopy” is not a word. It is a word, isn’t it?)

After celebratory diaper changing, I rushed NikkiZ to daycare and am currently trying to cram in as much work as possible in an attempt to catch up for the THIRD time this week. I’m guessing by the close of work tomorrow I’ll officially be “caught up” - probably just in time for me to catch this fantastic stomach bug.

When I called MrZ to tell him, “NikkiZ pooped a solid poop! All is right with the world! We can be happy again!” he justifiably responded, “Man. She’s got it easy if all she has to do is produce solid waste to win you over.”