Saturday, August 03, 2013

campbell & the poopy patty


Not sure if my kid has a fascination with poop itself, or he just happens to be tiny enough that if he can put his hands on it (or in this case, in it), then its fair game... maybe a little of both. 

My days usually end at work in mid-day, and after work, I leave the store, head up the mountain and over to my in-laws house to retrieve Campbell.  They keep him several days a week while I and The Lovely Steph Leann are at our respective jobs, but once I'm done serving caffeine and wonder to the masses, I go pick him up.  That gives Boy Wonder and myself the afternoon... sometimes we play, sometimes we go to the park, sometimes he plays on his own and I do what I need to do (write, blog, clean, veg, the list goes on)

And sometimes, like any other baby, he needs changing.

And this is a story that I will refer to, much to his horror, when he brings home his prom date in 2028...

Sometimes Campbell fills his diapers and you know it.  He has a funny expression on his face, he might strain a little, he might make a grunty sound, and you know its on.  Other times, he makes not a peep.  If you watch him closely, you might see him pause in his action for a brief 10 or 15 seconds, then immediately go back to what he was doing, be it attempting a breakout to the kitchen, scaling Mount Pricey Chair or just eating the wall (or playing with his toys, if you want to talk rarities)...

If its the latter, you may not know it.  Until you do.  When the smell wafts in your direction.  And in this instance, that's how I knew.

"Campbell..." I turned from what I was doing to look at him.  "Did you... (sniff)... yeah, you did... let's get you changed."

I scale the Great Wall of Campbell (the barricades around our house set up to prevent him from entering the kitchen, climbing the stairs, getting tangled up in the computer cords, having the tv fall on his head and running to freedom to the front door) and grab the needed diaper, then pick up the box of wipes.  Its also noticeably light, which only causes me slight concern at the time, yet will come back to me in a few mere moments, as you, dear Coffee Reader, will discover, as I unfurl my tale of woe and poop.

As a dad, you learn small skills that you never thought about when you were childless... like how to scoop up your child in such a way that your arms nor hands put any pressure on his little bottom--this is mostly because you don't want to cause any more "Squish" than necessary, but maybe slightly because you don't want any "Squish" to squish out on your arms.   I scooped him up in such a way, and laid him down on our rug. 

On the rug, you say?!  Not a big deal, I do it all the time... lay him down, hold up legs and soiled bottom with my left hand, remove soiled diaper and wipey wipey with my right hand, put down new diaper, attach, rebutton or snap, right as rain. 

That's how it normally works, anyway.

I lay down the little monkey, remove the sticky strips to get the diaper off of him, and turn to my right to grab a wipe.  Since there aren't many, I have to use one hand to open the top and get them to stick through that little opening in the top--annoying, but doable.  I turn back and realize that in that 3 second time period, he has reached down with his own hand, snatched the diaper out of from under him and tossed it aside.

In the span of the next 4 seconds, a few things happen all at once...

...his bottom has a few speckles of residue, but not bad.  I continue to hold up his legs and bum, keeping it from getting on the rug.
...his old diaper is off to the right.  I glance at it and see there is very little in the diaper, and think to myself "wow, that was a lot of smell for just a little bit of junk... hmm... this is easy..."
...I look at him, cause he's a cute kid, and notice his hands are dirty.  Not dirty like, dirty, but dirty like chocolate.  Waaiiit... that's not chocolate...
...I then look up around his head... four inches from his head is a large... well, a poopy patty.  A genuine, chunky, somewhat flat poopy patty, sitting there on our living room rug.

Campbell snatched the diaper out from under himself... the poopy patty fell out, possibly rolled to a stop a few inches from his head, the diaper tossed to the side, and somehow had managed to get both hands in the mess.

The next few seconds are vitally important.  Why?  Because anything and everything goes in Campbell's mouth... including his hands, no matter how dirty.  And he's got poop on his butt AND there is a large hunk of crap actually resting ON the rug.  And I've only got a few wipes.

Immediately, I grab the poopy patty with a wipe and put in on the dirty diaper.  Glancing at the rug, no stain, so I breath a quick sigh of relief... I yank out a wipe and wipe up his bottom quickly, watching his hands, hoping he won't decide to chew his fingers... bottom clean, I set him down, then go after his hands... understand, Campbell doesn't like being held down at all, so holding him to wipe his hands does not bode well for Sir Doodie Pants here... he flails his hands but I finally get them wiped down, inspecting every finger on each hand to make sure. 

I scan the area quickly around him, pick up a few little Gunk Nuggets and put them in the dirty diaper... now, bum clean, poopy patty up, nuggets gone, hands wiped, I finally can get his own diaper on him. 

Thirty seconds later, its like nothing ever happened for him... he's off rattling his rattle, pushing his toy doggy around and making motorboat sounds for no reason other than he likes the sound of his own voice--like his dad, natch--and I pick up the pieces. 

I'm sure you have your own crap stories, and I'm sure some of yours will make mine look more sanitary than a doctor's plate of instruments at an appendectomy... but it was still worth a share.

A day in the life.  Never too exciting, but somehow, just not as boring as you'd like.

Thanks for reading.

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