Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Don't you just hate it when...
the baby poo gets everywhere? Oh yes. It's the kind of story that's always funny later, but when it's happening you're all "holy SHIT! it's effing everywhere! Somebody help meeee!" Then you wish you could hit a button that takes you to a warm and sunny tropical place with a nice drink...SERENITY NOW!...and then zings you back once you feel relaxed.
Anyway, I've heard tons of poo stories in my day. One where my brother, when he was a wee baby, decided to take his poo-filled diaper off and explore it with his hands during a productive nap time. And then it got all in his hair, himself, all over the crib, the walls, etc. etc. My poor mother knew something was up due to the smell coming from the room and walked in to the massacre. Most people have tales like this. I'm dreading having one to tell of my own. There are other tales of potty training when the little one takes off the diaper to be free of its shackles and then promptly crouches down to make a neat pile on the welcome mat, rug, or other snazzy surface. I've managed to keep the poo problems to a minimum until this morning when Little P decided it was time to do a giant gift for me in her diaper. I stuck her on her changing pad and forgot to give her the little toy that usually distracts her. Once I got the diaper off, the mess was bigger than I'd planned (what's new?) and she promptly stuck her hand down there. Into the fray. AGH! NO!! I barked and grabbed her hand before it could touch her mouth or anything else. I got it just in time, but it was all IN her hand, you know? Hands have a lot of nooks. ick. So, while I was frantically wiping her hand and gagging, she decided to flail her little legs around and both socked feet bumped up in to the fray too. So, I had to rip the socks off her feet, STAT. Now, there was poo all over the changing pad because she was wiggling like a worm on a hook. Anyhoo, it all got cleaned up eventually...just lots of clothes, items, and myself were victim to the skirmish. Now, of course, I'm paranoid about the next poo. I'm such a lightweight about the whole issue. Many friends call me a wuss. But I say, hey, don't tell me you get poo all over your hands and all over the place and that YOU don't freak out just a little.