It's a baby!

It's a baby!

Monday, January 14, 2013

A Poop Story

Warning: Expectant mothers and manly-types should probably skip reading this particular gem.

Today was a day like any other- tripped over a cat, fed a baby, got peed on, tripped over another cat, managed to miss the second cat only to step on a third. You know, normal stuff. Anyways, I was getting Xan and myself ready to go to the store when I saw my lovely son go cherry-faced with exertion and then let out a really cute giggle. Yeah, he pooped. So I took him to the changing table, glad that he did it before I got him in the car, and proceeded to experience what I am now calling the poopocalypse. 

 Now, I've changed nasty diapers before of all colors and consistencies, but nothing had prepared me for this one. It was every single color of the poop rainbow and had blown out of the top, bottom, back and front of every part of the diaper. When I pulled his clothes off of him chucks started flying in all directions and he got his little hands around one particular bit and had it headed for his mouth at lightning speed. I managed to wrangle it away at the last second and clean him off only to drop a big piece of poo on my shoe that my cat started to go after. After getting it away from the cat, I look up and Xan smacks me in the face with a poop covered hand then twines his poo-laden fingers into my hair (you're gonna want to remember this part for later). After cleaning up all of the chucks and splatters I get him cleaned up and re-diapered and go to the laundry room to wash out his clothes. Not realizing how bad the massive expulsion of effluvium from my son's backside really was, I open up his ravaged onesie only to have a racket-ball sized chunk of poo fall out and, yes you guessed it, land right on the cat. Gracefully and with saint-like abilities, I clean up the entire aftermath (including scouring every inch of myself) and go to the store as planned. The whole time there, I smell a certain stinkiness, but think it must be in my imagination due to the thorough cleaning I did earlier. Chalking it up to being shell-shocked, or poop-shocked as the case may be.  Finish up my shopping and go home, only to discover that I went around for 30 minutes in public with a dollop of baby crap right on the very top of my head. 

My son is a magician. A poop magician.

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