Wait, start over.
As Layla's fourth birthday approaches, I'm starting to catch myself being a little nostalgic. Remember the days when she couldn't walk? Everything stayed where I put it, more or less. Remember when she couldn't talk? When she didn't tell me to shut up, or that she didn't care? Ahhh, bliss. Remember the days when the only things you had to deal with were dirty diapers, mixing formula, and waking up in the middle of the night? It was like a vacation!
One thing I definitely remember, maybe not so fondly, was the first time Layla and I were home alone together. My hetero-lifemate was off doing something. Wrestling trolls, ripping trees up by their roots, slaying dragons, whatever. I was sitting on the couch, rocking Layla, when I felt a distinctly warm sensation somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. "Hmmmm" says I, "something seems amiss." Damn fucking right something was amiss. She had shit all over me. I don't know how a baby that only weighed a little over 7 pounds could hold that much shit. Or how the force of that much shit didn't manage to blow her diaper completely off. Sort of like this:
This was my face when I discovered that I had been shat upon:
I leaped off the couch, in a single bound noless, and rushed my almost newborn infant to the nearest bathroom. All the while screaming, and flailing (in a completely safe way, of course), and uttering profanities. I turned the water on at the sink, testing the temperature on my wrist of course (what do you take me for, a bad mother?...Don't answer that.), ripped the shitty diaper off my baby's ass (in a completely gentle...you get the idea) and began bathing her in the sink. She did not like this. Not even a little. She screamed her tiny head off. We both stood there (ok, so SHE didn't stand) crying and wailing and wondering why God hated us so much. Ok, so maybe only I was wondering that. After this fun adventure, I took her back to the couch, dried her and diapered her again.
When hetero-lifemate came home, he had had a perfectly wonderful, magical day. And I hated him with every fiber of my stumpy (I'm 5'2") being for it.
Hetero-lifemate: "How was your day, baby?"
Me: "Fuck off and die."
Him: "Alright then. What's for dinner?"
This is when I jumped off the couch, laid Layla down, and beat him to death. Ok, not really.
And that, my faithful readers, is the Tale of the First Time I was Home Alone with Layla. (TM)
some parts of this story may have been embellished a tiny bit, or a complete lie.
Oh my god. I was also pooed on by my lovely boy, when I was sitting up in bed breastfeeding him after being home from the hospital only a few days. He's not done it since- my shrieks must have convinced him it was a bad idea. Love your blog :)
ReplyDeleteMy family calls those "blowouts"... so when a tire actually "blows out" the wordage gets a little confusing. lol
ReplyDeletehttp://www.craplicious.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/01/children_chart.jpg
ReplyDeleteShake'n'Bake's first explosive poop was all over my (ex)mother in law.
ReplyDeleteI almost pi$$ed myself laughing!
I was later pooped upon, but nothing will ever erase that memory from my brain.
Jemma: Yeah, Layla didn't do that again after that either. I'm very thankful. And thank you. I love that you love my blog. :D
ReplyDeletenat: I could think of some alternatives. Hmmmm. Shit storm, poop explosion, diaper emergency. Any of those seem better? ;)
kids: That was awesome. Thank you!
dysfunction: Hahaha. Oh god, I WISH she would've shit on someone I detest. But no, I could not use her for my vengeance. Yet. :p
as a kid-friendly, yet not-ever-goint-to-be-a-mom, i will share a redunculous moment of the past from my nanny days.
ReplyDeletewe were driving to the park. the baby was @ 2 or 2.5. it was autumn, and he had on overalls, a turtleneck, and a lambswool-lined corduroy coat, and of course, tiny timb's.
we were singing along to david byrne, when i smell it.
the baby was slightly writhing, until he caught a whiff.
holy crap.
i pull over and there it was!
shit-suvious had exploded out the diaper, up the turtleneck and all the way out of the neck hole, over the jacket , and onto the car-seat liner.
what the hell happened?
i tossed the liner out, and hosed the kid off, redressed him, and went to the baby store and started potty-training him the same day... much to the chagrin of his lazyassed father.
the end.
poop.