Okay, this is probably the most text heavy post you will ever see on this blog but I had to share because I thought it was so funny and I want this to be included on the blog so we can look back on it later. I was laughing so hard I was crying at work. WARNING: poop related story to follow.
From: Adam Troutwine [mailto:ATroutwine@Polsinelli.com]
Sent: Wednesday, January 11, 2012 10:06 AM
To: Troutwine, Alison B.
Subject: "Oh what a beautiful morn-ing..."
Ah, the lyrics of the sweet tune with which you serenade our babe have extra special meaning on this morn.
What a beautiful morning it was.
Things were going swimmingly - Claire was playing in her room nicely, I was buzzing about getting dressed and finishing my man-grooming in preparation to walk out the door - and then the thunder from down under struck. And all was thrown to hell.
I finished primping and prepping myself, and went to collect Claire from her room. She was waiting at the baby gate to greet me with her sweetest smile. But as soon as I stepped into the hallway from our bedroom, the foul stench of something long dead and rotting permeated my nostrils. As I walked closer, the smell took on an earthy, decaying quality that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Right away I knew: there was a poop in that diaper that would make Shaq proud.
So I hoisted Claire onto the changing table and undressed her to see what I was up against.
Mind you, I was in my favorite grey suit and a freshly ironed shirt.
Dear. Lord.
The brownish-grey mush went from her lower back to her belly button, and reached side-to-side to each thigh.
She immediately put her hand in it (it was hard not to) and raised it up to show me what she'd snared.
I went to work as fast as I could, wiping away handfuls of the stuff in quickly over-taxed wet wipes.
All the while I was retching as wave after wave of the vile odor of the seventh pit of hell that is our daughter's bowel crashed over me.
When the worst of the wiping was done, I had time to collect my thoughts and surveyed the scene. I had bested most of the abomination clinging to her body, but there remained patches only a power washer or sandblaster could remove. The changing table pad looked like the asphalt at a drag racing strip, stained with peel out marks from scalding rubber left from oversized tires as the dragsters are rocketed forward with jet engines. Only this stain wasn't burnt rubber. It was a track laid down by some other-worldly animal hell-bent on ridding herself of this morning's toast, yogurt and porridge.
To make matters worse, the garb you selected for her was completely soiled, necessitating an immediate change of clothes.
With the grisly cleanup complete and Claire changed into fresh onesie and knickers, the two of us sat for a moment - too stunned and exhausted to continue the inevitable march out the door.
But even then, as we sought a moment's peace and the courage to carry on, the smell mocked us.
It was thick in the room and hung to our clothes and hair. The temperature had raised at least 10 degrees and a fine sheet of sweat covered my body. And a fog or mist was slowly rising from the diaper pail, where the demon shat lay dying with its other, less formidable brothers.
Today we were victorious in vanquishing the foe, but I fear the worst may lie ahead.
My strength is sapped and my stomach a wreck. As I write this account, my gag-reflex seems to be on auto-pilot simply recounting the tale.
Be warned: our daughter is capable of atrocities I could have never imagined. I do not begrudge her, not in the slightest, for she knows not what she does.
Nonetheless, if you ever face a creature like the one I saw today, be afraid. Be very afraid...
