What? Does the title gross you out somehow? If it does than you must not keep reading. If you are brave enough to continue, welcome.
So Sunday morning rolls around in our house and it had already been quite the weekend. Not near as relaxing as I thought it would be on my drive home from work Friday. Let me set the stage for you: Dom is outside washing my car. I'm sitting on the counter in my bathroom about to dry my hair. Brooklyn is in her swing in our bathroom kicking her legs up and giggling loudly.
I looked down at my precious little spawn only to realize that something wasn't quite right. The pink & white footy pj that she had on was suddenly different colors in different areas. "Crap!" Literally. So I picked her up and as I suspected she had shit all over the place. I start to take off her pj's and realize this is not a one man job. I walk to the front door with baby in hand - holding her with arms fully extended - manage to open the door and tell Dom that I need help. I shut the door, walk back to our room and decide that the only place this can be fixed is our bathtub. So here I go to attempt to take off the pj's and I realize it has literally gone all over her legs, feet, and as I was putting her in our tub - the wall. I am leaning over the tub holding her arms waiting on Dom because it can't go any further without another set of hands and I wait...and wait...and wait...
Literally about 5 minutes go by and no sign of him so I pick B back up, at this point she's in her diaper (or what's left of it) and I go again, carrying her across our living room to the front door with arms in full extension, open the door back up and this time make it a little more clear I NEED SOME FREAKIN HELP. Dom looks up at his smiling, naked, daughter covered in poop and says "Oh shit!". I say, yes exactly.
He came to my rescue and as a team we tackled this. A nice long bath later and our baby girl was all sparkly and shiny clean. Dom had to shower also as he suffered the most during the cleaning process. As did our tub, our wall, my pj pants, and her ruined footy pj's.
I'm convinced she has done this in retaliation for the rice cereal and formula bottle I gave her early that morning. It's part of her resistance to change as she already let me know how pissed she was when we transitioned exclusively to formula.
Oh, the years to come. If you are contemplating having a baby DO IT! Don't be afraid of a shitstorm like the one my daughter managed this weekend. Embrace it and realize you can do anything.
God bless single mothers.