More Poop Tales

Last Thursday after breakfast I herded the girls into the nursery to change Turtle’s poopy diaper. I pulled off her pants with one hand and threw them on the floor as I walked into the room, then used that hand to scoop up her legs and place her on the changing table. SQUISH. I scream-squealed at the massive handful of lumpy green poop oozing through my fingers and around the stones on my wedding rings. It was all the way down Turtle’s leg and on both feet, since I had dragged her dirty pants down her legs. It was somehow on my shirt already, too. I held her down on the table with my right elbow as I pulled out wipe after wipe, trying to clean my hand and her leg and pulling my shirt off all while squealing, "ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod." I finally got everything cleaned up, got her in a fresh diaper, wiped and rinsed out the poopy clothes and washed my hands and my rings in hot soapy water, then got a washcloth to wipe down Turtle’s legs once more for good measure. As I knelt down next to her I smelled poop again. “Argh, who pooped now?” I asked the girls, only to realize I had a big ole glop of poo on the leg of my sweats. I screamed again and pulled my pants off, now in the nursery in my bra and underwear.

I stayed that way for a good half hour, getting everything cleaned and rinsed and wrestling the girls into their clothes and shoes for our morning errands. When they were ready I sprinted across the living room (remember we have bare windows facing the street) to get myself dressed again. I always carry an extra outfit in the diaper bag for the girls, but maybe I should start stashing extra clothes for myself around the house, since I often find myself half-dressed after being vomited or pooped on, and twice lately, bled on. And maybe it’s time to get some window coverings for the living room!