Napalm Poo

I stayed home with Chloe again today.  As a teacher whose Christmas break is current and on-going, I suppose that shouldn't be a surprise.  We went to town and did some Christmas shopping, got some groceries, and hung around in stores doing daddy and daughter things, like I would sing to her while she was in the cart.  At one point I was singing, "I Want to Hold Your Hand," by the Beatles to her, when she said, in increasing volume "NO Dad-deee!"  Then she proceeded to tell me she wanted Down Baby...a song she has come to love.  Some heads turned since I had NOT been singing loudly.  Ah, the joys of a two-year-old.

We got home and I gave her lunch.  She finished and I decided to give her some play time to wind down.  I was sitting in my chair when I heard her grunt and strain.  I knew it was a poopy diaper, and normally would have called, "NOT IT!"  But Cora was at work, and the dogs do not do well at baby sitting.  I've tried!

So, I gave her a couple minutes to be sure there would be no surprises when we got to the changing table.  See!?  Smart, huh!

When I grabbed her I noticed her sleeves were still wet from the soup she'd been playing in.  Then, as we crossed the threshold of the hallway I became aware of a moistness at her lower back.  "Huh," I thought to myself, "I didn't see her spill soup back there."  Just then the air currents changed and I got a very heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized what I was probably feeling.  Never being one to enjoy a good mystery, I turned the child over to investigate.

I instantly regretted my curiosity.

There was this...it was the color of...it looked to be the consisten- ...well, it was crap.  It was a gooey form that had properties of watery refried beans.  I assumed it was more pasty and would stick to wherever it was.  That would have been a useful form for it to take.  It did not however act that way.

I noted that what had come out was creeping out the back of her diaper, much like a tube of tooth paste, except you never want your tooth brush within a mile of this stuff.  The smell was...overpowering.

I set her down on the changing table and began to take her clothes off only to find they were all contaminated.  I started say "NO, no, no, nooooo," without realizing it.  I used that horrified, semi-speechless, scared voice, you know, the one you keep hidden away, saving it for a Zombie Apocalypse?  Yeah, that one.

Chloe began to move as she always does, but the tone of my voice must have meant something to her, it probably touched one of those primal parts of her brain, because she stopped.  I grabbed a clean diaper and put it under her and began removing the old, and cleaning her bottom.  I got her cleaned enough that I felt I could put her down.

Then I began to remove the diaper which was full and sodden.  I expected the entire pile to remain stable, stuck to itself and the diaper, obeying known laws of physics.  However, as I neared the diaper pail, some strange vagary of gravity, or perhaps it was an air current, slapped playfully at my hand and the entire affair shifted, at which point the pile disintegrated and flung itself in several directions at once.

I was staring in slow motion as the whole affair fissioned into a horrible mess.  Splatters lit upon the comforter of the bed, the sheet, the diaper pail, the garbage can, the pair of pants I had removed a moment before and other less important, but equally revolting places.  My hand was no longer safe, either.  It was like napalm, it stuck to everything it touched.  Yet, it seemed quite willing to travel!  Oh, the humanity!!

Chloe remained at the epicenter of the odor extravaganza.  She looked fairly calm, except for the fact that I knew what was on her back.  I quickly ascertained there was no helping the bed, and returned to my daughter after depositing the vile Luv atop the diaper pale.

I examined her at arm's length and decided the bathtub was the safest bet and off we flew.  I held the child held away from me, whilst muttering what I hoped were comforting words, but must surely have sounded like I didn't hold any hope for saving her.

Into the tub, I discovered that a shirt can be taken off the wrong way.  This saved her from getting it near her head and after a quick bath, we returned to her room for pajamas and then I let her sit in the front room under a towel while I began to address the mess simmering in her room.  Decontamination took awhile, but finally it was safe for human occupation and I sent her to nap while I tried to forget the horror I'd witnessed.

Cora and my sister tell me this is not uncommon for parents.  I have never heard poop stories like this.  Of course, I rarely used to pay any attention to parental stories since they obviously are boring compared to the world of history and aircraft.  I now have a personal interest in these stories, since one day they may save my life, so if you have one, let me know!!!