Yes, you read the title correctly, this post is all about poo. After several heartstring-pulling entries about our son’s surgery, the least I can do is lighten things up a bit. That and the fact that a good friend of mine triple-dog-dared me to post about what I texted her this morning. So there is that as well…

Poo. I love the word because it’s such a cutesy version of what is certainly NOT adorable. For all you parents out there and everyone who has changed more than their fair share of diapers, we all know while your child may be cute, things tend to get very, very ugly at the most inopportune times.  “Been there, done that” parents always share their tales of woe and discuss ruined clothing and furniture like battle scars. “They were brand new white capri pants!” “We had JUST changed him five minutes ago, and he was fine!” As an only child growing up in a house where the only diapers changed were mine, I was understandably naive to just how central all things poo-related would come to rule my life. A few parents even laughed and warned us how quickly defecation would end up front and center in Brian and my discussions. We laughed… then, of course, it happened to us.

Brian and I were more than prepared for China. I had read horror stories of adoptive moms, who three hours in to the 15-hr return flight, realized their little bundle of joy soiled not only themselves but the lap they were sitting on as well. We wondered, cautiously, every time we either got into the van for the day or strapped our little man into our carrier whether this would be “the time.” Lucky us, we  survived the entire trip to and from China poo-free (aside from normal and unremarkable kind).

Somehow, we even survived (mostly) a major parental fail when shortly after we returned from China we fed Alexander an entire packet of baby food called “Just Prunes.” (no joke, that’s what it’s called!) Of course, Alexander ate it all happily– and we’re all excited because he’s eating food rather than formula, until it hit us. We fed our child an entire package of prunes. No good can come of this. We eventually paid for our error in judgement, but it wasn’t nearly as severe as it could be. Now, prunes are reserved for “special occasions.”

So, of course, this post is leading up to what caused me to text my friend and be the cause of the triple-dog-dare. That, my friends, is what we refer to retroactively as a “blowout.” (At the time of occurrence, we call it “Good ^*&@&! Get him in the tub! It’s everywhere! Don’t touch that! Ackkkkk!”)

The true irony of my story is that we had a new washer and dryer delivered today. After I all but confirmed that our appliances were original to the structure of our home, we realized that baby laundry would kill our practically hamster-driver machines. In true Kathleen fashion, I immediately prepared for the worst-case scenario and began washing everything in sight this week “just in case our delivery gets mangled or they can’t install the machines.” I felt prepared, and as needless as ever, our machines were delivered and installed without a hitch.

As if on cue, Alexander sensed the presence of new laundry machines.  I saw on the baby monitor that he was awake from his mid-day nap, and so I went in to greet my happy and well-rested son. He was sitting up, and bouncing a little.

Then he handed me a poo-covered sheep blanket.

Chaos ensued. I tried to start piling “affected” items in his crib while gingerly lifting my confused son out to safety. With his little arm cuffs  keeping him from grabbing at his face, I realized that trying to clean this boy would be difficult. I howled down to Brian for backup, and immediately started stripping down my kid while trying to keep him from sticking a thumb in his mouth and/or spreading the filth any further. I can’t even do the emotion justice– but anyone who has been through this understands the panic, desperation, and adrenaline that runs through your body. As I continued to defrock the boy, Brian followed behind me cleaning up what I tossed in his direction;  soon, I could hear new beeps and boops from our laundry room. Meanwhile, I grabbed our laundry bin, tossed it into the bathtub, put the kid in, and started the water while trying to keep the kid from moving his arms.

Within a fifteen minute span, our kid went from one outfit to another. Anyone not privy to the chaos in that time would just see a kid who needed a new outfit. But to a knowing party, it was survival of a blowout. We now have our first “real” battle story to tell, and Alexander’s sheep blanket will never look quite the same to me.  So what have I learned? Make sure you know to operate a new appliance the second it arrives, and always, always pass on the prunes.