Never heard of the Poop Fates? Read the origin of the Poop Fates here at Conversion Diary. Got it? Now read on.
In the middle of brunch today (why is it ALWAYS in the middle of a meal?) I caught a whiff of something suspicious coming from the baby on my lap. A peek down the back showed that it was very close to breaching the diaper wall, so I hurried Joseph upstairs. I was fully prepared for poop smushed all up his back, but was not expecting to find it COMPLETELY up the front as well. He immediately plunged both hands, including his useless "distraction toy", up to the wrists in poop. I snatched the toy away before he could throw the poop-smeared thing, and started to attempt damage control, but it quickly became apparent that a bath was in order. I mean: poop under the fingernails, in the wrist creases, on the sleeves of his shirt, OH MY GOODNESS IS THAT POOP ON YOUR FACE???
Oh, and did I mention that he was already sobbing hysterically?
So, I hauled him to the bathroom and put him in the back part of the tub so that he would be quarantined while I got the water the right temperature. He didn't take it very well. He was freaking out, clawing at the sides of the tub (now smeared in poop) and my clothes (ditto), while I frantically tried to calibrate the water temperature and keep him away from the alternately scalding and freezing water. Finally, I got it right and let him get wet, which he usually loves, but there was just too much trauma at this point, and it became clear that I was going to have to get in, too. Well, why not? I was already going to have to change clothes and his clutching hands had deposited poop up to my elbows by this time.
It was at this point that my eldest apparently noticed that something was awry (what, 10 minutes of screaming didn't tip you off?) and poked his head in to see if I needed anything. Um, no, thanks, I got it.
So, into the tub, which quelled the screaming somewhat, but now the baby was so traumatized that I got to figure out how to clean us both up while keeping as much of him squished up against me as possible. An inch of space between his skin and mine was NOT permissible. Oh, and he wanted to nurse, of course, but until I got his face washed, that was NOT happening = more screaming.
I eventually got all the visible poop cleaned up and decided that I'd better get his hair to be on the safe side, which reignited the freak-out. Washing the shampoo out of a baby's hair when he is making a frantic effort to climb onto your head? Easy! Not.
At long last I bundled him into his towel, sort-of dried myself one-handed while holding Mr. Clingy with the other hand, and waited for him to fall asleep while blogging this in a towel. My grapefruit and coffee still sit abandoned downstairs in the hopes that I can detach Joseph for a while.
Wish me luck.