Death By Poop

Okay.



*****inhale**********exhale*****


My daughter................................huh hummm......................



My daughter ate...... breathe breathe breathe


My daughter ate her own POOP!

Eek!

There, I said it. If you don't want to hear the story then stop here. If you do want to hear the story.......




....then you're as gross as my daughter.





Yesterday I was talking to my little sis on the phone while I was in the back bedrooms making beds. Adam came running back in a panic to tell me that Avril had pooped everywhere. Oh great, I ignorantly thought, she's probably got it all over her clothes. As I reached the end of the hallway, just as I was rounding the corner to the living room, Adam pipes up and says, "It's all over and she's eating it!"

What!? She probably got a little on her finger and so he thinks she's eating it. Adam tends to be dramatic and just a smidge GERM.A.PHOBE.

I round the corner and there she is in the middle of the floor next to the vacuum. She's got her hand to her face and she's gleefully cramming in.......gAg.....sputter.......retch!....FISTFULS of the stuff.

"Aaaack!", I screech. "I gotta go!" I flung the phone on the floor.

Then I had to assess the damage.

The stuff was oozing out the back of her diaper and had decided that the carpet was a nice place to plop down. After which, I'm assuming, my sweet baby decided it must be fun to play with because it was quite smeared. And the unassuming vacuum hose was then vicimized by her small, fecal covered hands as there was stuff packed in the coils of the hose. It was at this point, I'm guessing that she decided to do away with the goop covering her dimpled little paws,
Enter: Mama

I frantically scooped my daughter, and all four of her poop-covered cheeks, off of the floor and dashed to the bathroom where she was haphazardly placed in the bathtub fully clothed and then doused with water. She kept putting her hands in her mouth which, at this point in time, was green.....Yes, green, and I was in quite the panic as I realized not only were her cheeks and mouth covered in the gunk but it was also packed in her nostrils. I ripped her shirt from her body and turned it inside out to swipe her mouth clean. I dug and swiped and wiped until the inside of the shirt was as unusuable as the outside had been. I then started splashing her with water and cleaning her mouth out with a rag which was all in vain as her poop-caked hands kept finding there way to her face.

It was here that I found myself when my brother called. Adam answered and handed me the phone and for some reason I took it between two finger tips and slapped it on my shoulder where I whined that I didn't know whether to puke, cry, or faint.

I then related the whole story thus far to him and he.....laughed!

Well, I finally got the water to run clear and then filled the tub with a fresh, soapy bath.

Here is where Jay enters the story.

I called him to whine and ask what I should do. He was far more grossed out than even myself and he told me to take a syringe and flush her mouth and throat out and then to feed her until she puked it all back up. Right about then she barfed in the tub and much to my relief, it was white. Woo-hoo! Maybe she got more up her nose than down the hatch. Well, she decided to plant her face in the water and suck a bunch in so I got rid of the phone and whipped her out of the tub so she could suck in air and spit up bath water. Then, and only then, she started wailing which is about the time Shelby called.

Finally, I got the girl bathed, dry, in fresh clothes, and quiet. Then I had to tackle the living room. Here's where it gets even worse.

You know, while I was scrubbing up the child I didn't think about the actual poo so much as just getting it off of her. Well, getting it off of the vacuum and scrubbing it out of the carpet, I got first-hand knowledge of the stuff. It was the green, pasty, grainy stuff. Moms, you know what I'm talkin about. The kind that takes half a package of wipes to clean off the cute baby bum. Yeah. That stuff. I got to scrape it off of my carpet. Like a hundred times. It's one thing to rescue your baby from sure death-by-poop but when it's only carpet....
all I could think was, "I wanted laminate floors!" Why, oh why, can't husbands listen to us?
WHY?

Well, it's all said and done now and so far we've survived.

Looking on the bright side, if we tell that story to her dates, Jay won't even need his shotgun.

And truth be told, my one regret is: I should've grabbed the camera.

Just keepin' it real. Keepin' it real.