The Epic Poopie

Be forewarned, this is not a good story for the faint of heart, and is not suitable for small children.  Parental discretion is advised.

This afternoon, as I like to do, I put Soren in his garage sale bouncy seat, set it to vibrate, and left him happily swatting at toys in the living room while I attempted to get some sewing done.

Soren has not pooped much in three days.  One or two little ones but nothing much.  As a result, I was pleased to hear that "end of the ketchup bottle" sound from the living room that signifies a deposit has been made.  As I expected as I peeked into the living room, Soren looked like he was feeling much better.  I left him for a minute or two while I finished ironing a seam, thinking how he often makes deposits in batches of two's and three's.  Michael came in, said hi to the baby and I, and went into the back room to do some work.

When I got around to unplugging the iron and checking on the baby, what a sight I did find!

Soren had definitely pooped.  The poop, having been disposed of with some great force, and being of considerable quantity, had been propelled, not just through the elastic legs of his diapers, but also up the back, and up the front of his diaper, coating his entire lower body in poop.  The quantity of poop was so considerable that the super-absorbent futuristic technology diaper he was wearing simply could not absorb it all, and so Soren found himself splashing around in his bouncy seat in about 2" of poopie puddle.

I arrived on the scene to discover that in the 60 seconds after Michael greeted our son (having missed the poop lake), Soren had in fact dipped his hands and cute little sock-covered feet into the mess as if it were finger paint.  Two month old Soren from there, proceeded to make cute little hand and foot poop prints on the seat, the blanket he was laying on, his onesie, and of course his face.

Soren sat, grinning, relieved and comfortable in his little throne, and was none too pleased with me when I decided it wouldn't do to let him stay in his present state.  Two baths and a scrubbing of his sink top bathtub later, I had a very angry infant on my hands, three dirty wash cloths, one filthy onesie, one poop saturated blanket, and of course, what was left of the diaper (The question is, how do you fold one so fargone?  I failed terribly.).

So that is the tale of the epic poopie.  I hope to never see one like it again.  I remain mildly traumatized.  I seriously considered photographing the boy in his mess, but decided it wouldn't be tasteful, knowing I wouldn't be able refrain from putting them on the internet.  Dear reader, be grateful.  Be very grateful.  It wasn't pretty.

Soren is sitting in my lap as I type this, and beginning to end, he has managed to urp on himself three times, and twice on me.  I need to go get a bib.