When Amelia was first born, I was convinced that my daughter was special. Developmentally, she was an ordinary baby. But in my eyes, she was extraordinary. I was mesmerized when she smiled. I was in awe when she grasped my fingers in her pudgy little hand; I practically threw a parade the first time she splashed her feet in the bath tub. And yes, I even applauded her poops use this link.
That is, I did… until Amelia had her first MOTHERLOAD!
It was an average Tuesday afternoon as I sat nursing Amelia. She had just finished eating when I began to hear the all-too-familiar grumblings of her delicate digestive track (That was sarcasm, people! Anyone who has ever been in a room with my daughter knows that she can burp and fart like a champion! Seriously, she once farted so loudly that we heard it while traveling in a car roaring down the highway with all windows open. It brought my brother, James, to tears with laughter!)
Anyway, I allowed her the prerequisite 15 minutes of rumbling in order to finish her business before I headed upstairs to change her. What I found when I opened her diaper could only be described as a mess! Far from solid in consistency, and quite substantial in quantity, this was one for the record books. Gross, yes. But again this was my adorable daughter and her poop was still charming.
After a few moments of praising Amelia on her miraculous ability to poop better than any other infant in the history of the world, I began the task of cleaning her up.
Being the skilled and experienced mother that I am at three months post partum, I swiftly grabbed both her ankles in my left hand and hoisted her buttocks into the air to prevent the mess from creeping up her back and seeping onto her onesie (no sense in turning this simple diaper change into a complete outfit change, right?)
However, in my haste to save her clothing from being soiled, I forgot to wrap up the offending diaper, instead choosing to leave it open on the changing table. I did not recognize the utter stupidity of this move until moments later when I went to wipe my daughter’s bottom and instead placed my right hand squarely in the middle of the dirty diaper. CRAP! (literally and figuratively).
Yet again, I did not balk. After all, I was a suave new mom who changes diapers all the time. I was used to baby poop. So instead of gagging, I simply turned to grab a baby wipe when….DAMN! The next wipe had failed to catch on the dispenser and had fallen back into the big blue baby wipe box.
Now normally this would not annoy me as I easily could pry the box open and grab the next wipe. But in this instance, with my daughter’s rear hoisted up into the air with my left hand, poop smeared all over my right hand, and a very messy diaper lying open-faced on the changing table, I am left at a crossroads.
Do I:
1) Release my daughter’s feet, laying her back down into the mess that she has created and soiling her clothing? Or do I…
2) Attempt to jam my poopy fingers through the razor-thin crack in the wipe box knowing full well that I am not Gumby and will never be able to reach a wipe? Or do I…
3) Swipe my poopy hand across the pile of clean Pampers stacked on the changing table thereby ruining precisely $17.50 worth of diapers? Or do I…
4) Use my daughter’s onesie to clean my hand resulting in said outfit change which I previously had hoped to avoid?
I am pondering this exact dilemma when…like the growl of an approaching thunderstorm I hear the menacing rumble of my daughter’s digestive track roaring back to life! As I turned my head slow-motion style, the desperate cry of “Nooooo” resonating off the nursery walls, my adorable little daughter UNLEASHES HELL.
Shooting out of her rear like a runaway train, there is now poop everywhere … ALL …OVER…. EVERYTHING!
The changing table, her onesie, her legs and feet, the old diaper, the new diapers, the wipe box, the baby powder, her hair brush, my hands, my shirt, my pants, and the rug now have a lovely new coat of adorable baby poop!
After a brief moment of shock, three minutes of utter disgust, and a bath for both her and me, all was right with the world again. And despite that little setback, I still love everything about my daughter. So today, I will go home and continue to clap every time she coos, and tear up every time she sticks her tongue out. But I will NOT cheer when I change her diaper for there is no longer any joy there. That ship has sailed.
