Most Disgusting Post Ever
Disclaimer: The above title is not hyperbole. What follows is a poop-related anecdote. You’ve been warned.
After setting the kids down for their afternoon nap, I lay down on the couch for my nap. I do this everyday. Some days I drift right to sleep and wake up several minutes later wondering what time it is and who just drooled on the couch. Some days I lay peacefully for several minutes without falling asleep, but at least I get to rest horizontally for an unbroken stretch without worrying about what objects the children are shoving in their mouths. Some days I hear a child, probably Abbie, screaming just as I drift to sleep. There’s rarely a big problem when she screams; I usually find her wedged behind a piece of furniture, or maybe crumpled on the floor in frustration that she can’t reach the books that I put up for a reason. When she screams, I return her to bed, and return to my day muttering about how she made me miss my chance to drool on the couch for the day.
Yesterday was one of those scream days. I rolled off the couch and stumbled into her room, expecting to find her stuck behind her rocking chair. Instead she was yelling on the floor after having fallen off the changing table. She’s not supposed to be on the changing table, and I think she knows that based on the fact that she never climbs up there in my presence. Usually she sneaks up there to reach the upper shelves in her room that are filled with forbidden objects like books with actual paper pages. Yesterday she had a legitimate reason for wanting to be on her changing table: She had a poopy diaper, wanted it changed, and since no adults were present she was going to have to do it herself.
This desire to be changed when poopy developed in the past month. Previously she never cared if she was poopy no matter how bad her odor. If we weren’t diligent in checking her diaper, or if I had cold and couldn’t smell, we might change her diaper before her nap as normal, and find an extra surprise hidden inside. The boys are similar, though they’ll at least get a little crankier most of the time with a poopy diaper, especially Ian.
Now Abbie will actively find someone to change her diaper when she notices poop. This sounds like a great thing, that she’s on the road to being potty trained. She has to realize there’s a problem before she can want to prevent it. The problem is she doesn’t just sense the poop’s presence; she has to verify it with her fingers. When she finds me, I immediately know what she wants because I can smell her coming around the corner. She’ll probably also have a few smears on her hands and legs, and if I’m lucky they’ll stop there. Usually I have to change her pants. If I’m unlucky I have to change her shirt too.* If I’m really unlucky I need to bring out the carpet steam cleaner.
Abbie spent her time on the changing table cleaning herself as best she can. She couldn’t remove her diaper, but she could wipe off any body parts adorned with skid marks. I believe that she fell off the changing table trying to find more wipes after grabbing the 50 or so in the wipe warmer, plus the special antimicrobial pad at the bottom.
When I found her, she had made a mess of herself, the changing table, and anything in direct contact with the changing table. Fortunately Ellie was home, and I immediately conscripted her to clean our child while I sanitized everything else. It was a messy job, but at least I found some irony in using household wipes to clean the baby wipe warmer.
With everyone and everything in her room reasonably poop-free, we set her back in bed, closed the door behind us, and hoped she would drift to sleep without further incident. She did, but my opportunity for a nap was ruined. Too bad, because I would have much preferred to have drool all over my hands.
* Her record is needing three pairs of pants in one day, and two shirts.
After setting the kids down for their afternoon nap, I lay down on the couch for my nap. I do this everyday. Some days I drift right to sleep and wake up several minutes later wondering what time it is and who just drooled on the couch. Some days I lay peacefully for several minutes without falling asleep, but at least I get to rest horizontally for an unbroken stretch without worrying about what objects the children are shoving in their mouths. Some days I hear a child, probably Abbie, screaming just as I drift to sleep. There’s rarely a big problem when she screams; I usually find her wedged behind a piece of furniture, or maybe crumpled on the floor in frustration that she can’t reach the books that I put up for a reason. When she screams, I return her to bed, and return to my day muttering about how she made me miss my chance to drool on the couch for the day.
Yesterday was one of those scream days. I rolled off the couch and stumbled into her room, expecting to find her stuck behind her rocking chair. Instead she was yelling on the floor after having fallen off the changing table. She’s not supposed to be on the changing table, and I think she knows that based on the fact that she never climbs up there in my presence. Usually she sneaks up there to reach the upper shelves in her room that are filled with forbidden objects like books with actual paper pages. Yesterday she had a legitimate reason for wanting to be on her changing table: She had a poopy diaper, wanted it changed, and since no adults were present she was going to have to do it herself.
This desire to be changed when poopy developed in the past month. Previously she never cared if she was poopy no matter how bad her odor. If we weren’t diligent in checking her diaper, or if I had cold and couldn’t smell, we might change her diaper before her nap as normal, and find an extra surprise hidden inside. The boys are similar, though they’ll at least get a little crankier most of the time with a poopy diaper, especially Ian.
Now Abbie will actively find someone to change her diaper when she notices poop. This sounds like a great thing, that she’s on the road to being potty trained. She has to realize there’s a problem before she can want to prevent it. The problem is she doesn’t just sense the poop’s presence; she has to verify it with her fingers. When she finds me, I immediately know what she wants because I can smell her coming around the corner. She’ll probably also have a few smears on her hands and legs, and if I’m lucky they’ll stop there. Usually I have to change her pants. If I’m unlucky I have to change her shirt too.* If I’m really unlucky I need to bring out the carpet steam cleaner.
Abbie spent her time on the changing table cleaning herself as best she can. She couldn’t remove her diaper, but she could wipe off any body parts adorned with skid marks. I believe that she fell off the changing table trying to find more wipes after grabbing the 50 or so in the wipe warmer, plus the special antimicrobial pad at the bottom.
When I found her, she had made a mess of herself, the changing table, and anything in direct contact with the changing table. Fortunately Ellie was home, and I immediately conscripted her to clean our child while I sanitized everything else. It was a messy job, but at least I found some irony in using household wipes to clean the baby wipe warmer.
With everyone and everything in her room reasonably poop-free, we set her back in bed, closed the door behind us, and hoped she would drift to sleep without further incident. She did, but my opportunity for a nap was ruined. Too bad, because I would have much preferred to have drool all over my hands.
* Her record is needing three pairs of pants in one day, and two shirts.
posted by Matt at
11:51 PM
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