I Live in a House of Poop

[Baby Watch: Day 50]

Baby Oliver had his first official diaper blowout today.  It was a vomitous proud day for all.

Unfortunately, that was the “good” news.

The bad news?  His blowout wasn’t simply through his diaper, requiring a quick wipe down with a costume change.  No no.  His blowout was in the car seat, at the beginning of the ride, and Kristen didn’t know it had happened until she pulled into the driveway 30 minutes later.

By that time it had seeped out the sides of the diaper, out the legs of the onesie, through the newborn insert in the car seat, and all over the car seat itself.  I was in the house, and I was notified of said event when I saw Kristen crest the steps, herself now covered in poo.

I looked into her defeated eyes.  Then I looked at her hands, thickly coated in poo.  The shrieking soundtrack of Baby Oliver losing his mind perfectly scored our shared nausea.

While her hands were dirty she unbuttoned the diaper (we’re using cloth diapers – side note – a thousand times easier than we’d expected), and passed it to me to clean.  By the time I’d finished, she’d taken Oliver downstairs where she was attempting to placate him with a bottle.

As I exited the bathroom, I had an “entering a crime scene in a horror movie” moment, as I noticed that there was A.) A poop covered onesie sitting on top of the hamper, B.) A poop covered changing table cover sitting on top of the changing table, C.) Several poop covered wipes sitting on top of the Diaper Genie, D.) The ripe aroma of baby feces lingering in the air.  Why were these items “on top” of their respective pieces of furniture and not “inside” them?  You ask a wonderful question.

In her defense, Kristen had just taken care of Oliver for several hours, and she was hurrying to feed him, so a thorough sanitation of the room was not her #1 priority.  We had a brief, pleasant conversation about how busy she was and how I’d cleaned up the craptermath; we both respected and understood that those things would inevitably happen.  We then went about our business with no further contention or incident.

Until about 10 minutes later.

It was then that Kristen said, “Without getting all ‘judgy,’ can you get a wet wipe and clean his hands . . . there’s poop on them.”

I live in a house of poop.

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