This post is not for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach. Should the mention of bodily functions, especially toddler bodily functions, make you ill or otherwise compromised, you should opt out of reading this particular post.
About a week ago, Troy got the boy up from his night of slumber and changed his diaper. When I got him dressed about an hour later, I was surprised when I unzipped his blanket sleeper and his, well, Little Garrett, was peering at me. I laughed hysterically and informed Troy that he had forgotten to put a diaper on him. But then we found it, bunched up in the leg of his jammies.
Today, Troy got Garrett up and changed his diaper. We fed him breakfast and, when he was finished, he played with the dog, I talked to my mom on the phone and Troy surfed the net. When I hung up with my mom I walked down the short flight of stairs from the kitchen to the family room. I smelled it. Horrible, stinky doody. It smelled so strong I was afraid the dog had crapped in the house. I asked Troy if he'd remembered to put a diaper on the boy because, it just didn't smell quite right. He made a face and assured me that he had, indeed, diapered the runt. I whisked the small stinker upstairs, unzipped his blanket sleeper and, there was Sir Garrett's little squire, undiaperclad and covered in brown goo. Stellar! I fell over laughing as I accused Troy, again, of not bestowing upon our son the gift of the diaper. Troy came into the bedroom and saw the diaperless whipper snapper. He began to doubt himself. "Did I really not put a diaper on him this morning?" But then we found it, pushed all the way down into the right foot of the pj. This begs the question, is Troy beginning to malfunction as a diaper putter onner or is Garrett starting to be able to pull on the tabs that remove his poop catchers?
In any case, I sent Troy to run a bath, obviously our son would need watery reinforcements after crapping himself. As I pulled the boy's leg out of the pajama I discovered the real horror of it all. His foot was completely covered in doo doo. I shrieked and he reached down and grabbed his foot with both hands. By this point I'm sure you've realized that the left foot of his blanket sleeper had acted as the diaper and a giant wad of poop was chillin' in the bottom of it. We ascertained that the boy would need a shower, lest he be bathed right along with quite a lot of poopy floaters. I lifted him under the arms and ran him to the shower where Troy climbed in and scrubbed him down.
It is the second worst poop experience we've had. The first, of course, being The Great Poopy Plane Caper of 2006. It most definitely required two parents, one shower, one load of laundry, and a great deal of laughter. On our part, that is. Garrett didn't find it funny. At all. He was quite disturbed by the large volume of guck on his feet, hands and legs. He did not like getting put into the shower in his pajamas but we didn't want to risk taking them off and experiencing droplets of poop all over the carpet as we rushed him to the bathroom.
Author John A. Shedd once said, "Simply having children does not make mothers." And I agree. But I do believe that being in the fires and taking the heat day in and day out, dodging doody infested feet and coming out on the other end only slightly singed is what makes a mother. Or a father for that matter.