Lesson #9: The Poop Will Find You
I have often bemoaned the fact that 90% of my life seems to be spent dealing with little people's poo. Pooey undies, pooey diapers, pooey Pull Ups, it never ends. I swear, they hatch elaborate pooping strategies to make it so that every half hour I'm knuckle deep in butt yuck.
Little did I know, the poo was about sneak attack me.
Let me give you a little background so you can make some sort of sense of the story I'm about to regale you with. Yesterday my husband brought my 3 year old upstairs to put him down for his nap, then sneak in some shut eye himself. I wasn't shocked when about 10 minutes later they traipsed back downstairs to-you guessed it!-change a poo. They went back upstairs where hubby proceeded to nap and child proceeded to play dump Legos all over stinkin' place then creep downstairs because-you guessed it again!-he had yet another poo in his pants. And guess what? When the baby woke up, he had pooey pants too.
Fast forward to last evening. After having an "incident" with the high chair tray which resulted in some bruiseage between my eyes and a major headache (don't ask), I called it a night and headed to bed. I was walking around the bed in semi-darkness straightening out the sheet and comforter when suddenly I stepped on something sorta hard and sorta sticky. My first thought was that I had stepped on a bug or spider, but then I thought it didn't feel squishy and wet enough for that. I paused momentarily and, rubbing my toes together to dislodge the offending item, pondered what I could possibly be stepping on that would be the unique consistency of hardsquishy.
You know where this is going don'tcha?
A terrible thought entered my mind and, fearing the worst, I snapped on the lamp and looked down. As I peered in disbelief at the brown marble sized round lump on the floor I tried really really hard to think of something else it might be. I muttered a few choice words as I hobbled back over to my side of the bed and grabbed a tissue, careful not to let my hardsquish'd toes hit the floor. Very slowly, I bent over and retrieved the lump with the tissue.
Have you ever heard the saying "If it looks like poo and it smells like poo, it's poo"? Yeah, well. I hobbled down the stairs and hobble-ran into the living room, shrieking at hubby, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I JUST STEPPED ON?!" Before he could answer I shouted, "IT'S POOP!" (Ok, I didn't say poop, I used a 4 letter word.) Then I ran into the bathroom, flushed the renegade poo and immediately began washing and Purell-ing my foot.
At some point during this spectacle hubby started laughing his butt off, so I scolded him, saying that "When the kid says he pooped, you have to change him RIGHT AWAY or that sh!t will escape!" which made hubby laugh even harder. Sure, easy to laugh when it's not your foot with a poop marble stuck to it. That's when he told me he'd changed the baby's pooey diaper ON THE BED, so it could have rolled out of the diaper when he was wrapping it up. I told him if I rolled over onto a crap log in the middle of the night I was NOT going to be happy.
He asked me if I was gonna blog about it and at first I didn't think I would because you all would think we were disgusting gross poopy people. But ya know what? I'm willing to bet you've been there or somewhere near there a time or two. And if you haven't, you will be. 'Cause the poop WILL find you.
(Photo courtesy of a Pedia Lax ad on the back cover of Family Fun Magazine's June/July 2011 edition.)