Much Apoo about Nothing

I don’t consider myself a great literary mind, I don’t even consider myself a writer; however, there is something amazingly gratifying about making a Shakespearean poop joke. I’m a sick individual, I know. That being said, there will be many, many more scatalogical references in this post. This is a warning to all who may be offended. I apologize up front, but this story needs to be told… or something.

Now that you’re aware of the contents of this post, reading further is like signing a binding contract that you won’t be offended. It is now illegal for you to be offended by my toilet humor. That’s how the law works.

We were informed by our pediatrician that many babies that nurse have a tendency to stop going number 2 around 2 months old. Well, not stop all together but a lot less often. Several days in between taking care of business is not uncommon. This is the case with our guy. Ok, now that we’ve covered that part…

The little guy has discovered that he can sit up. Ok, not like a normal person yet, but he holds his head up pretty well. Unfortunately, left on his own he topples over rolls off things. Enter the Bumbo, it’s an amazing device that allows parents to sit their children up and walk away with little fear of them crashing and burning onto the floor. Did I mention it was amazing? Ok, so they advise that you don’t leave your child unattended, but seriously… we all know what this thing is made for.

So, there he is trying out his new Bumbo, things are going great. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter in the Bumbo, yeah, yeah, I know, we’re terrible parents. So, there he is happy as can be and then suddenly he’s angry. He’d just eaten, he’d just been changed he was wet, he’d had a conversation with a man about a horse the day before, and he’d just woken up from a nap, that pretty much covers all his worries.

We decide that he has wet himself again, as he a is a pee factory, this has not slowed down at all. I pick him up from the Bumbo, as I am taking him to the other room I see it. It’s a blow out. It’s nasty. I start removing his Onesie, I realize that I cannot do this alone. Mount Poosuvius has erupted and I’m about to be the victim of chocolate lava.

MAYDAY! MAYDAY! Assistance required! The browns have been released!

The Mississippi Mud Pie is all up his back. She informs me that the best option to remove the Onesie and prevent the spread of homemade peanut butter is to roll it upwards. This will put layers of Onesie between his head and the dookie. Brilliant!

At least it would have been, had I not been the one performing the task. I decide to roll it tight like a sleeping bag or a tube of toothpaste. So I get to his head and the liquid Hershey’s Kiss oozes out the side. I now have his hot fudge on my hands, which subsequently ends up on his cheek and neck. I realize this is all very gross, but YOU signed the contract. I don’t make the law, I just abide by it.

The Onesie is finally off and I am instructed to ignore the Montezuma’s Revenge on my hands and his cheeks. It is now time to tackle the diaper. There is no good place to start, the gastric gravy is everywhere. As I am already coated in the septic sludge I reach down and undo the diaper. I’m actually surprised at the amount of slurry remaining in the diaper. It just doesn’t seem possible. We’ve reached the excrement epicenter, we start the cleaning process.

I am fairly certain we used more wipes on this one mess than we have used since he was born. We finally take care of the diaper and I able to clean the super colon blow off of my hands and his face. I am comforted that we are all clean now. There is one thing I have taken away from this.

This was the Poopocalypse, anything from this point on will be a breeze.

-- This is a repost from my blog from a while back (which I am not shamelessly promoting, very unusual for me), I just though it would be a great way to introduce myself in this forum.