Diaries Magazine


By Cate @finally4ever

Yea…right now everything in my life revolves around poop.

Baby poop. Horse poop (since SOMEBODY has gotten too lazy to lift her tail to poop…disgusting creature she is). Dog poop. It’s just… poop.

The other day though, was hands down the most spectacular thing that I’ve dealt with in my 20 something years so far. It goes a little bit like this…

Shannon has a diaper rash of unknown origin. She usually gets them when she’s teething but she’s not cutting any new teeth that I can see (and be my guest to stick your own fingers in that snap trap. I ain’t doin’ it.) My usual protocol for diaper rash is to rinse the booty with warm water (no wipes…) and allow to air dry. Once dry, cover area in coconut oil and cover with diaper. When she was a bitty baby, this was no biggie. Let her air dry on a towel and life was good. Now that she mobile, it makes things a little bit more complicated. The kid loves to pee on her feet. She thinks it’s the greatest thing. I’m not sure who she gets that particular habit from. Not me. Promise. I only pee on my feet when I’m drunk, and I can’t even get drunk anymore since I have to be responsible and all.

Anyways. Nekkid time usually consists of Mom chasing Shannon around with a towel and try to intercept any foot peeing before it happens. Key word there was usually. This particular morning I was running late (so it could be any morning really) but when I took her diaper off, her rash was worse than it had been the night before. I figured that if I brought all my clothes into the kitchen, I could put the dogs out, get dressed, hit the ‘go-go gadget’ button on the Keurig, and put my boots on while she did her air drying. Any pee would be on the tile and therefore not a big deal to mop up. I mean, the kid has a bladder the size of a walnut so it’s not like Jaxson peed (which leaves puddles that compare in size to Lake Champlain).

You can see where this is going. Out go the dogs, but of course The Hound has to go leaping past me to chase the cat. There was a brief battle of what to do, seeing as how I was still in my nightgown, but dude wasn’t comin’ home. Not even for the ‘c’ word (cookies, for those of you who don’t speak dog). So. I lock baby into the kitchen, don muck boots and go buggering off after the dingdong.

The dog is on the line and back into the house I go, saying a silent prayer that the neighbors weren’t peeking out the window. I was sexy, I tell you. Didn’t need anyone thinking impure thoughts or anything.

Walk in kitchen. No baby. Okay, she’s probably stuffed herself into a cupboard. No biggie. Open doors. No baby. Uhh… is my child magical?

No. Just a typical kid. I look into the living room and I can see a little foot hanging out from underneath the kitchen table. Text husband: “Need to lower baby gate in kitchen and/or fatten child.” iPhone refuses to send witty text, so I throw that.

I figured that she’s peed a least once, so I grab a paper towel and walk into dining room to retrieve the little Houdini.

Approach child and wonder why shes being so quiet. Also wonder why she isn’t running away…

Get closer. What’s that smell?  What is that brown stuff…? 

Oh. God. Please… Please. Please. Please. PLEASE….

Yup. That poop. A LOT of poop. Sweet baby Jesus.

Have you ever tried to wrangle a nekkid, poop covered child into the bathtub while you are still wearing a nightgown and muck boots?

It’s like trying to stuff wet cats into a hand basket without getting scratched. Ain’t gonna happen. By the time I got up the stairs into the bathroom, we BOTH needed a shower and a stiff drink.

Shower went well enough. We were both cleaned, dressed, and headed back downstairs when I notice that the joint still smells like something died (when baby starts eating real food… oh man… bye bye breastmilk poops). Then notice that poop was not just on small child, but also everywhere that small child smeared it. The table, chair, and there is also a good bit on the cat.

Luckily everything but the cat was easy enough to clean up (I gave him a swipe with a paper towel and a ‘good luck, buddy’) and we managed to get out the door only a half hour later than usual.

Lesson learned!

She pretty darn lucky she's cute!

She pretty darn lucky she’s cute!

Back to Featured Articles on Logo Paperblog

About the author

Cate 64 shares View profile
View Blog

The Author's profile is not complete.

Author's Latest Articles

See more