Diaper Doodie

She was great at the grocery store. Just a little angel! Gramma always does a wonderful job entertaining her in the cart as I careen through the store with my own cart; it's my own little vacation.

The drive home she started to get a little fussy, but I expect that. Thursday schedules are a little rough because she never quite gets the nap she needs. As I unstrapped her from her car seat I told her what a good baby she had been and how nice a nap would be for her. She greeted me with her toothy smile and a stench that could knockout an army.

"Oh well" I thought to myself, "at least she didn't do it in the store." I plop her down on our makeshift changing area in a corner of the living room, and try to keep her occupied as I get her changed. It's quite the diaper. But, I get her out of it into a nice clean one, and let her crawl around in her diaper while I dispose of the nuclear waste and grab her a onesie. When I come back to the living room she's playing so contentedly that I decide to throw all the cold food in the fridge - an unexpected treat! I can hear her slapping her hands on the tile which lets me know she's found me in the kitchen. I put the frozen food away, make her a bottle, and swoop her up to get her ready for her mid-day "night night."

That's when I noticed the brown streaks on her face. What on earth did she get into? That chocolate bar I had for breakfast? I was sure I'd finished it all . . . It was all over her.

Holy Cow! It's her poo.

Her hands were full. To make it a little better, some dog hair had been added to the mix. She started to put her hand toward my face. I shrieked.

Just then the dogs went to the corner to check things out. I barked in my most stern voice to "GET AWAY!"

Too late. Big dog had a nose full.

O crap. Whom did I tend to first?

I hurried to her pack - n - play and cleaned off her hand and face. I run back to the living room where Big Dog is scratching his face on the carpet.

"Noooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Madeline is screaming in her poo-covered jail house.

I douse some rags with water and clean off his nose and paws, knowing I can tend to the poor carpet later.

I still smell it everywhere. I realize it is all over me.

I run back to the pack-n-play and start to clean her off with wipes. It's like emptying the ocean with a spoon. I pick her up, trying to keep her on my already soiled side and take her up to the bathtub. We're greeted by a confetti like scattering compliments of Little Dog and her obsession for all things trash. I push it all out of the way with my feet and start the water.

I don't want to put her in her cute little duck tub, so I pull it out - but its suction cupped bottom actually works for once. I pull with all my adrenaline and we fall back against the wall. I toss it out the door and start to fill up the tub while not letting Madeline touch anything - including herself. I strip off her fresh diaper and haul her into the tub.

Mid-day bath! Cool!

I used about half the baby soap on her hands alone, cringing when I think about her using them at dinner. She's gradually getting clean, but the drain keeps falling shut, so she's surrounded by little floating islands of excrement. She splashed and screeches. I'm fighting a losing battle and I know it.

I wonder about covering her in Lysol.

I do my best and pull her out, only to get her poopie again when I put her on my hip. I wipe her down with a handful of wipes and carry her to the nursery. I diaper her up and grab the nearest onesie. It's dirty - there is a crust of some beans on the front.

Right now - it's clean enough!

I swoop her up and we settle into the rocking chair. By some stroke of luck I've managed to remember her bottle, and she eats away happily.

About 10 minutes later she's getting sleepy and I'm anxious to get downstairs and clean up mess #2. Big Dog comes in to investigate. He wipes his face on the carpet in his usual fall-is-coming way and shows me that I obviously wasn't thorough enough in my hurried rub down.

She finished her bottle and I got her settled into her crib. Obliviously of my plans she'd shattered for the rest of my day.

I cleaned up her carpet the best I could and headed downstairs.

There were hand prints and paw prints - everywhere. The "diaper changing corner" was a wreck. Insult to Injury? I spent hours yesterday vacuuming and shampooing the carpet. I hauled all of the living room furniture into the kitchen by myself and worked most of the morning on the living room carpet. I thought it would be a nice surprise for my husband.

My clothes are covered in poo, the living room corner is covered in poo, I smell like I've been living in a dumpster for the last year, and I can track her movements through the kitchen like a bizarre poopy GPS.

I can't wait for my husband to come home and ask, "So what did you do today?"