When I gave birth to a baby, I knew this day was coming. I wasn't sure when exactly, but it was in my foreseeable future.
Friday afternoon I heard Ikaika babbling to himself after his nap. I cracked the door to his bedroom open and peeked my head inside, cooing at him in a sing-song voice, "where's my precious ba..."
The smell hit me first.
Then my vision returned.
"WHAT THE FAAAAAA???????!!!!!!"
My son was covered - covered - in poop! On his legs, arms, face, in his hair, on his hands (which were in his mouth....ugggghhhh....). It didn't stop there. The poop was smeared into all four corners of the world, smashed into the quilts, suck in every tiny hole of the mesh that lines the sides of his playpen! The culprit, a discarded diaper, was laying to the side, ironically still clean.
The baby has taken his diaper off before but wet sheets are usually no big deal. He doesn't regularly poop during his nap. Apparently, Friday was the beginning of the end of that. I should have put a cover over the diaper. I should have duct taped it to his body.
The sight of my child happily licking poop off his tiny fingers was almost more than I could bear. Normally, I can handle that kind of thing. Watching kids vomit makes me sick but bathroom stuff I can deal with. This was definitely the exception. I truly did almost throw up.
After a bath and a huge load of laundry I set about the task of dragging the poopy playpen down the stairs of our apartment building and spraying it down with a hose. How gross! Even though I laughed about this story later (a lot later), I was so traumatized in the moment that I didn't even get a picture! I really would enjoy having some evidence of this (hopefully) once-in-a-lifetime event.