Hopefully this does not become a regular feature of this blog. It seems, however, I am destined to have crazy poop situations occur whenever it’s just Brandon and me, so I’m sure this won’t be the last crazy story.
Brandon was playing in his little infant activity chair (like a Bumbo with a disc of toys around it) earlier and I was sitting on the couch, Internet shopping. Lately, he has learned if he fusses, we will pick him up, so we’ve been trying our best not to be manipulated by him in this fashion. How do we know he is playing us? Well, the minute we walk toward him, he abruptly stops crying, smiles and puts his arms out to be picked up.
So he was fussing a little and I kept talking to him, telling him it was okay and to wait just a minute (I was in the middle of paying for my order). I smelled a shitty aroma, but ignored it because I swear his bottom is like the little butt that cried poop. His farts smell so bad, you would think he pooped his pants. I am constantly gearing up to change a shitty diaper, only to reveal absolutely nothing in his diaper. That had already happened twice this morning. He kept fussing and I noticed he was getting pretty upset, so I put down the computer to pick him up and that’s when I saw it. Poop everywhere. It was all over his leg, his little chair and dangerously close to dripping on the floor. I felt horrible. I had made him sit in a shitty chair longer than he should have because I wanted to order a couple of hand soaps from Bath and Body Works! Mother of the Year nominee here.
I very carefully extracted him from the chair and he had poop all over him. I held him away from me, making sure no poop was dripping off his foot onto the floor as I headed back to his room. I put him on the changing pad and realized this was bigger than the both of us and a bath was in order. I managed to get his onesie off him somehow (I considered cutting it off for a split second). I carried him to the bathroom (leaving behind a majorly poop-smeared changing pad cover) and put him down on a beach towel on the floor. I started running some warm water in the bathtub and took his diaper off and held him up while he “stood” sort of in the stream so I could rinse the poop off before putting him in his baby bathtub. This seemed to make him very happy. As I was doing this, I realized the tub was filling up. The drain was closed! I still have no idea why. As I let the water drain, I put him back on a towel on the floor. Then I realized I had poop on my shirt, so I took it off (apparently I’m going to end up in my bra every time there is a poop situation). Guess what happened next? The doorbell rang. I picked up my wet, poopy, naked baby and held him up against my bra-clad chest. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and nearly burst out laughing. I made the decision to go to his bedroom and look out the window to see whether or not I really needed to answer the door. Whew! It was just UPS.
Back to the bathtub. I cleaned him, took him out of the tub, drained and rinsed it and filled it up again and rinsed him off. It was a big to-do. As I drained the tub for the final time, I stood up to grab his towel and happened to look down. I had poop on the front of my shorts. So off those went. I have never felt as awkward as I felt at that moment, bottomless (no, I didn’t have underwear on. Don’t judge.), wearing only a bra and bending/squatting down to pick my slippery baby out of his bathtub. I hightailed it to my bedroom where I deposited him safely on the bed and went about putting on a clean pair of shorts. I diapered and dressed him quickly, knowing I had foolishly left the poop-filled seat in a room alone with the dog. I put Brandon in his crib and prepared for the worst. Surprisingly, Bella had not eaten any of it! I took the seat outside and hosed it down (upon the appearance of the hose, Bella hightailed it for the screened-in porch, still emotionally scarred from the last incident, no doubt) thoroughly. Once back in the house, I had to retrace my steps to ensure there was no poop on the floor and to make sure I had gotten all the towels and clothes that had come in contact with the poop and put them in the wash.
Luckily, the rest of the afternoon was pretty uneventful. I was just glad there was no more poop to deal with. David came home and I went to go take a shower. As I took off my shirt, I noticed in the mirror there was something on the left cup of my bra…yep, a poop smear. I should just go buy an entire new wardrobe in various shades of brown to get me through the next few years.