Poop

November 18, 2009 § Leave a comment

img_05885.jpg

I used to lazily roll out of bed around eight, and it took me at least an hour of slow-paced readying to get myself out the door. I’d shower slowly, dress slowly, and eat slowly. I’d read a couple articles from Time or Newsweek and find my way into work sometime before ten.

Now, I get up at 6:45 in the morning so that I can beat Finnden to the punch. You never know when he’ll stir—sometimes 6:45 and sometimes 7:45. And you never know what mood he’ll be in when he stirs. Generally, he’s pretty happy, but sometimes he wakes up mad for no particular reason. It’s always good to be up a little earlier than him so that I can get a shower, dress, and maybe even pack up my things before he begins to demand my full attention.

If he’s sleeping, though, I don’t wake him until I absolutely must. Today was no exception. We needed to get to daycare by eight, and since he hadn’t yet stirred, I went to wake him at 7:45. He woke up happy. He was squirming, and rubbing his eyes, and digging his dimpled chin into his collarbone like he usually does, giving himself a double and a triple-chin. Then, as is his custom, he looked up at me and flashed a giant grin, and turned slightly to his left as though he were being shy. That’s what he always does. Adorable, but not anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps I should have noticed a little gleam in his eye. Perhaps.

I picked him up, grabbing him beneath the arms, and lifting him out of his swing. Then I placed my hand under his bottom. That’s when I knew. He was wet. I hoped, I prayed that it wasn’t what I thought it was. I pulled my hand to within a couple inches of my face and took a hesitant whiff. No such luck. It was poop. With a hand placed firmly under each armpit I swung him around to see just how bad the damage was. From his legs to his shoulder blades, from one hip to the other, there was not one dry patch.

I took him into the hall and laid him down on the changing pad. I quickly stripped him down and realized that there had been a major diaper fail. Without exaggeration, there was more poop outside the diaper than in it. It was everywhere, in wet little clumps all through his sleeper, under his arms, on his back and his belly, the inside of his legs…everywhere.

And I don’t know if you know this, but that stuff stains. So, I began to change him as quickly as possible so that I could throw it all in the wash. And then he began to pee…right onto his forehead. You should have seen the look on his face, not necessarily panic or even anger, more of a confused consternation.

I quickly cupped my hand over the fountain, and the stream immediately stopped. I went back to what I had been doing. And then it began again. This time he missed his own forehead, shooting over his shoulder to land on the changing pad, the coved surface of which sent the little rivulets right toward him and to the back of his head. So now he had his own pee all over his head in addition to his own poop all over the rest of his body. And then he looked up at me and smiled, a big, comical and wholly winsome grin.

Needless to say, Finnden and I were a little late getting to daycare this morning. After I had rinsed his clothes and his swing, pre-treated them, and thrown them into the laundry in addition to cleaning him up and getting him dressed, I was a bit behind. I still haven’t really started work. Something in the back of my mind told me that these are the kinds of moments I don’t want to forget. These are the kinds of moments that warrant taking a few extra minutes to write them down so that I can look back on them years from now and wish I could do them all again.

Advertisements

Tagged: , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Poop at .

meta

%d bloggers like this: