Thoughts on Fatherhood 3

Recently I smelled poop. Thankfully it was the baby and not the dog that did it so I began the process of changing her. Shockingly, when I opened the diaper I found no poop, yet the smell persisted. I put her back together, picked her up, and felt the all to familiar wet spot on her bottom. After inspecting the diaper once more I could locate no signs of poop or peep. It was then that I removed the diaper and found a massive poop streak on her pajamas. However, since the diaper was securely placed on her butt, I have only one explanation, magic poop.

The wife, the baby, and I went up to my hometown to welcome home my youngest brother, Rob, home from his Coast to Coast walk ( www.coasttocoastforacure.com ). We picked up my other brother, Mikey, at my parents house and drove into the center of town. It was a wonderful celebration, with a police escort, and support from the local high school, firemen, and political figures. When all was said and done lots of money was raised for the worthy causes that Rob and his friend Anthony supported as they walked from San Diego to Nutley, NJ.

At the end of the celebration, the wife and I grabbed the baby, ran to the car, and drove back to my parents house. Our child was passed around like a football and was in desperate need of a bath. It was not until I carried the baby through the threshold of the house that I realized we had completely forgotten my brother Mikey and stranded him in the center of town. He took it pretty well.

At our child’s one month pediatrician visit we were nervous because she was getting a vaccine. The wife does not do well with needles going into her and it turns out having someone puncture the skin of our little girl is significantly more painful for her. That said, as we walked into the office things were going remarkably well. The baby was quiet and happy while other children ran roughshod over the office. A pair of twins were complaining about not getting what they wanted from the toy store, an eight year old girl bullied two younger siblings, and one little boy was inexplicably tearing pages out of a magazine and sticking them in his pocket.

Our little one sat comfortably in her car seat, taking it all in. After about 15 minutes she started to squirm a little and since I wanted to hold her anyway I unbuckled her and reached in to pick her up. What I found in that seat still haunts me today.

My hand instantly felt warm and wet. I pulled it out to see what I had discovered and to my horror found that my hand was covered in poop, which uncannily resembled German mustard in both texture and color. Fighting the urge to vomit and panicking a bit as to how I should proceed, I did the only thing that came naturally to me. I stuck my mustard covered hand in my wife’s face and awaited instruction.

She screamed, “pick her up!” and I complied, then I think she vomited a little bit in her mouth. At that point, instinct finally kicked in and I ran to the family restroom, which in a pediatrician’s office is basically the only restroom. It was then that I was able to do a little triage. Her outfit, cute as it was, went in the trash as did her poop covered socks and her headband which sported some mustard colored stains after I slide her outfit over her tiny head. Then my wife and I used an entire box of baby butt wipes all over her poop smeared body. To say the least it was my most trying experience I have had as a parent yet.

Thankfully my brilliant wife packed a change of clothing for our itsy bitsy poop machine! I pulled them out of the diaper bag, got distracted when I noticed a poop slick in the baby’s armpit and promptly dropped them on the bathroom floor. Obviously I was not going to dress my semi-clean baby in bathroom floor smeared attire, thus we went with plan C. Wrap her in a blanket and hope for the best.

By the time we were called in for our visit the shot was the last thing on our minds and the baby took it with minimal fussing. I’d apologize for beginning and ending this post with a poop story, but these are the experiences that scar me enough to necessitate writing therapy!