Is it Friday? God, I hope so.
Let me tell you about the week I have just had. It’s been a rough one and I’m not even talking about my crazy marriage or my three older, insane children and the dumb shit they do on a daily basis. Nope. This week the main character of the story of my life has been Emi’s poop.
Something must be terribly wrong, here. Something simply isn’t right. This damned baby is doing something that no other child of mine has ever really done before. She is shitting all over herself.
I have four kids! Four! And although I vaguely remember one or two incidences per child where they had an explosive situation happening in their diaper, Emi may as well not wear one at all. Every. Single. Day. This baby shits herself and, well.. myself, too, really, but the big issue here is the amount of clothing she has destroyed.
And you know what? I’m on top of it, too. You can hear her going to town loud and clear and I’m ready with the briefcase full of baby powder, Desitin, wipes, diapers, etc. that I keep handcuffed to my left arm at all times. There I am the second she does it and it never seems to matter because she’ll crack off one measley fart and I’ll end up having to shampoo the poop out of her hair. She has the most powerful asshole on the planet.
I understand the humor in this, I really do. But I also see myself here participating in the greatest “fuck you” situation a baby can hand you. I have turned into an ass wiping magician of sorts. You should see it as it is rather impressive. I have gotten so good at removing a onesie without smearing poop on her face and I flip her and roll her and wipe her entire body in, like, under three seconds. God am I quick. Like a fucking fox.
The first thing I do is hear the sound of her ass doing what it’s doing and I immediately sit up a little straighter to assess the situation. I used to make the mistake of allowing her to finish but that’s ridiculous since she seems to birth one of these monsters with one push. The second I hear it, I lunge for her and snatch her up under her chubby, little arms. Then, I lay a huge tarp down on the floor and stick her directly into the middle of it on her stomach. I do this because I’m afraid it might leak down through the floorboards into the neighbor’s place below and I don’t want them yelling at me.
After Emi is good and safe in the middle of the tarp, I might run for a large bucket of bleach water. It all depends. Then, I’ll get bare naked myself because there is no way in hell that I want to deal with me being covered in shit and as it’s pretty much flying by this point, I have to be careful.
Just as soon as the baby is on the tarp and I am bare naked, I put on my protective eyewear and it’s go time. Emi is a baby and so she is almost always wearing a onesie of some sort and this tends to complicate the situation. It seems that the onesie is a blessing in disguise, if you will, on account of the fact that had she not been wearing one, we’d be swimming down a shit river. At the very least, the onesie seems to keep the mess localized to one general area.
And that general area is Emi.
So, I sit down on the tarp in front of the baby and I wriggle her out of her pants. All of this sounds strangely perverted, what with the tarp and the goggles and the…poo. But let’s try to remember that we are speaking about a baby, here, Mmmmkay?
Once I am in position and I have wriggled her pants off, then I have to decide what to do with the onesie. The situation might call for me to try to pull the fucker down to keep the shit off her head but other times such as in the event that she is wearing a onesie that lacks the elasticity to accomplish this, there is little choice but to do a pull over. This can be quite messy. I pull out the arms first and try like hell to sort of fold a cleaner area of the garment up under to envelope the poop in it’s own designated area and at this time I will slide it off the baby’s head.
Prior to removing the onesie I do attempt to lessen the dangers with a bit of a preemptive strike against the enemy. I might take a number of baby wipes and try my damnedest to clean up the area. I find that this helps to gain a better visual parameter and also to keep the shit out of the baby’s mouth and whatnot.
Onesie is off. Whew. For a minute there, it was touch and go. Now, onto phase two of the this horrid mess.
Next to myself and the baby is what is to become a growing pile of shitty garments and wipes of various sizes. Also maybe a set of tongs and an electric sander. As stated, it all depends. Now that the child is but neckid, it is time to get her to a state of moderate cleanliness just until I can dunk her in the bathtub. I place a diaper wipe between my thumb and forefinger of my right hand and…. I start wiping things.
First, the back and the arms and then the arse and back of legs before I flip her over and do the front. If there is any shit on her head at any point, this is taken care of immediately.
Then, it’s back to the tarp or the plastic wrap or whatever I have laid her on where she will play and horse around and possibly take another shit while I am hauling ass with a pile of nasty baby clothes at arms length until I dump them into the wash machine. Usually, I will rinse them out first and then dump them in the washer. After I apply about a half gallon of Tide with Bleach alternative and the majority of a tub of oxy, I shut the lid and let the wash machine and detergents work they’re magic. Then, I am off to wash the baby.
Baby is washed. Boom. There’s the bathtub and the water and the soap and shampoo and then we bring her back out and once again place her on the tarp. At this point, maybe I’ll stick her on a blanket as I run to find the next outfit that she will be shitting in. I return, place the diaper under her ass, smear some Desitin on there real good, dump some powder all over the fuckin’ place and velcro her into the diaper. Then, because she likes it, I’ll give her a bit of a massage with some baby lotion before I get her dressed.
Once dressed, she will promptly shit herself again.
What the fuck??? It’s not like I feed her anything weird or something so simple as that. These goddamned clothes are not coming clean after being washed 807 different times and it’s driving me crazy that she is ruining her pretty clothes. I no longer even care about being up to my elbows in shit anymore… I just need her to stop ruining her wardrobe!!!
Screw you, you pooper baby! Damn, you!