For fear that you are eating a meal when you read this I will post the photos further down. I'm warning you now, if you are easily grossed out you should:
a. not have a baby
and b. go read a different blog
I should start with the fact that Brad went back to work today. It's my first day all by myself with the Holy Pooping Terror.
I had fed Michael a bottle and he was swinging gently in his swing. All was right with the world. Then the grunting started. Now, normally this would not strike fear in my heart...
I take him upstairs to change him.
(Cue scary music, possibly the theme to Jaws)
I lay him on the changing table.
There is a huge palm sized wet spot on his belly that had not been there when I picked him up. It's brownish. Oh my God, I squished his diaper when I carried him upstairs. Holy shit. Literally.
I unzip his jammies, unsnap his onsie and find...
It's also down his left leg. Notice how he looks? Happy as a clam. Not a care in the world. Unlike me, who is trying not to gag.
Okay, okay. Calm down. You can do this. The pep talk works and I decide, after surveying the disaster site, rubber gloves are in order. I put them on and begin peeling his soaked onsie up and then I realized two things:
1. I have to share this with all my friends and family! So, like a good blogger, I strip off my gloves and take a photo with my iPhone.
2. There is no way in hell that I'm going to drag that poopie onsie over my son's head.
So, I find a pair of scissors and dissect the onsie. Cutting first from belly to neck (carefully of course) and then cutting the sleeves from shoulder to end of sleeve so the whole thing just falls off of him.
At this point Michael got excited and started clapping his feet together, thus spreading the poo to both legs. Excellent.
I got the diaper off and instead of putting it into the diaper pail, stuck it into a ziplock bag. I look over at Michael and he has decided that now is a good time to pat his tummy, further spreading the toxic waste onto his chest and other hand. Luckily I caught him before he stuck his fingers back in his mouth.
Then the wiping began. A bad diaper is what I call a '5 wipe diaper'. This was a 15 wipe diaper...at least.
All was finally cleaned up and deposited neatly:
I promptly took him downstairs and gave him a nice warm soapy bath in the kitchen sink. Also a first on my own.
Trial by fire man.
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1 year ago