A crappy story

An old favourite - John at two weeks old

I could sit and watch him sleep all day - he's so perfect.

Until he poops, that is.

Mike has been really wiped from work lately, so he went to bed early last night to recharge for another long week of overtime. John wasn't tired yet, so we played a little and watched a little TV until he wound down. When it was time for John to go to bed, Mike was already fast asleep, so I got him changed in the dark, so I wouldn't disturb Mike. I settled John into bed, tucked him in, and he started to drift off.

Just as he was on the cusp of sleep, from his bottom came a dreaded noise ...pfffffffft..... pffft...pfft...pft... Dang. Maybe it was just a wet fart, I thought. A really wet fart. The sound of fart passing through copious globs of cream, perhaps? Could I really take that chance with such newly healed skin? Unfortunately, I couldn't, so out he came, this time to the dim glow of streetlight at the end of the bed, so I could see a bit of what I was doing.

Of course, he was jolted awake in the process, but it wasn't in vain. There it was, a week's worth of poop. Yes, he's a weekly pooper. How lucky, you may think. But you wouldn't say that if you've seen a week's worth of baby poop, threatening to break through the banks of a diaper.

Pfffffft...he wasn't done yet.....pffffft...

When he seemed finished, I got started with a cloth - NOT a squirt bottle ** see Note below** - and mopped him up. With the mess contained, I moved the old diaper to the side and started to dry off his bottom.

That was when Mike rolled over, and splatted his foot smack dab in the dirty diaper. And splat is really the only word to describe it.

Luckily, he had taken a sleeping pill, and was too far gone to wake up, even though he was wriggling his toes in baby poop. He snored through both the initial splat and the frantic mopping I did in the pitch blackness, praying he wouldn't roll over and smear it through the sheets before I was done. I hope I got it all, but there was definitely no footsies going on in our bed this morning, just in case. I haven't told him what happened. I don't think I'm going to.

Ah, the joys of motherhood. At least I'm safe for another week.
Better go - I have some sheets to wash.

**Note** Yes, I learned the hard way that poop and squirt bottles don't mix, with last week's poop. I was holding John football style over the sink, with his bare bum in the air. I was squirting, but it wasn't working. The poop was too sticky, so I squeezed the bottle harder, to make a more concentrated spray. The important word here is "spray." It got the poop off alright, but sprayed it all over the sink, the wall, the mirror, my face, my clothes. Delightful. I switched to the "swish in warm bath" technique, but I just got a big smear of sticky poop on the bottom of the tub, and his bottom was no cleaner. I tried holding his bum under the tub faucet instead, but he started screaming and the poop clung on anyway. That's when I said to heck with that and switched to a cloth, rash be damned.