Poop-demic

When I last signed off I did so because Maeve was finished napping. Turns out that what woke her was the need for an upcoming poop. Of course, since she’s only four and a half months old and doesn’t talk, she didn’t mention this fact to me. I scooped her out of her swing like usual and nestled her down on her changing table like usual. All babies love to be naked, or bottomless at minimum. I always give her a minute or two sans diaper before I wrap her up in a fresh one. My husband strolled in to see her and we cooed and giggled with her for the afore mentioned minute of free time. Well, if you recall, I mentioned her desire to move some milk, if you know what I mean. Maeve proceeded to shove both of her feet into her mouth and, to our chagrin, a dirty banana smell filled the air and poop spewed out of her, painting the changing table. Zack grabbed her little legs to prevent her from dipping her socks into the honey-mustard mess and I attempted to gather up the most of it with diaper wipes.

Naturally, there was a second wave. The storm surge. We had strategically shimmied her to a clean corner of the changing pad. The clean spot was no more.

Just as the doodie geyser sputtered out, she peed.

Needless to say, Maeve ended up in the bathtub.

A note to any other poor soul faced with this kind of poop-demic. Salt. Simple table salt takes poo right out of fabric. Don’t know why; it just does.