{ poopageddon }

The past few days, Baker has been acting a little grumpy. His naps have been longer and his appetite is gone. I attested this to teething (1 year molars) because he's also been gnawing on the rubbery part of his toothbrush a lot, but really, other than that, he's been fine. 

Another thing you should know is that Baker is as regular as clockwork. Every day, at the same time, he's poopy. We have a routine. He wakes up, calls for me, I get him out of bed, change his wet diaper, and then we go downstairs for breakfast. After he eats, he stands at the coffee table, watching Caillou or whatever kid show is on at 8:30 and poops.

Today he missed his morning poo. It is rare when this happens, but when it does, I'm usually greeted with the overwhelming scent of a ripe diaper after his morning nap, so when he woke up from his nap and still hadn't pooped, I thought he was probably just constipated. 

Fast forward a few hours. Its 5:30. I'm making dinner, Bake is playing and crawling all over, being the busy boy he is, when suddenly, I smell it. 

"Someone's poopy!" I say in a singsong voice. Baker stops what he's doing and looks up at me and smiles. 

I scoop him up and feel something wet on my arm. Uh oh. He's peed through he diaper. Then I realize he's wet all over. Panic overcomes me as I realize he has diarrhea. I race up the stairs, while holding him under his arms at a safe distance in front of me and lay him on his changing table. 

 

"Ooooh boy. Wow." I say out loud. As I take his pants off. I decide the best way to tackle it is to just get in there and clean him up as fast as possible, totally unaware of the full horror that was under the diaper, and the minute I undo the velcro straps of his diaper, I know I've gone about this all wrong.

It's everywhere. I hold his feet up in one hand while reaching for the wipes. I should have pulled a new pack open before I even started, but I reach for one and as I do, I see, as if in slow motion, Baker reach for It. 

It, is his penis. He reaches for it anytime it's not covered and before I can stop it, he's got a handful of poop. I let out a scream, which scares him and he begins to cry. I still have one hand holding up his feet, so I use the other hand to try to wipe his poo-hand off and like a magnet, his other hand is on It and is also covered in poo. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? So I did what I had to do. I picked him up, holding him way out in front of me, half nakie, and put him in the tub. Of course when I turned the water on, it ran cold for just a second, which he loved (not) and started freaking out. Luckily, it turned warm quickly and soon, it turned into a game of rinse the poop out of every nook and crevice. 

Later, after he was cleaned up and happily playing again, I posted this on facebook, "I just dealt with Poop-ageddon 2014. Alone. I deserve a freaking medal. Or at least a cookie." to which my uncle replied, 

 

"Ah yes, the brown badge of courage under fire. Have yourself a brownie!"

 

Oh the joys of parenthood.