September 22, 2010

My Halloween Costume: The Homemade Bumble Bee

In a recent attempt to rid myself of the post-baby pooch, otherwise fondly referred to as The Sad Old Man, I pried my cheeseburger-enhanced buttocks off the couch and began running once again. Running has always been my go-to exercise. I love everything about it, except the sweating, not being able to breathe, and the general effort it requires.

The scale is what makes it worthwhile. Fitting into my jeans. Feeling confident to bare my arms and legs during the two seconds of warm weather we have here in Long Underwear Country. And because I want to continue being able to zip my jeans even when wearing three parkas and a snowsuit, I decided to go the route of the treadmill. As luck would have it, my parents' treadmill, a garage sale relic from the era of bell bottoms and Woodstock, was gathering dust in their basement. It made its way down to our house and has become part of our morning routine, following snuggles with the baby and breakfast.

Fifteen minutes into my workout yesterday and just as I was beginning to dissolve into a puddle of sweat, I caught the stench of death. Admittedly, my first reaction was a sniff test of the armpit region. Luckily for myself and everyone within a hundred mile radius of our house, my deodorant was holding up just fine.

I continued running, but the smell didn't go away. I bent down and sniffed the machine itself, wondering if an explosion was immanent. And then I realized what I was smelling.

I looked over at Nathaniel who was just starting to fuss, knowing that it would not be one of the days where I got a great workout. I picked up the baby, trying all the while to hold my breath and avoid the toxic fumes emanating from his diaper as we trekked upstairs to the changing pad.

That was when I realized my hand was wet.

As I set the babe down on the changing table, I saw with horror that the Pampers Houdini had struck again, somehow escaping half of his diaper. And there was poop EVERYWHERE. It was overflowing from the dangling diaper, caked on his pajamas, and smeared from his chest down to his calves. As I tried to determine where to start the cleanup, I glanced down at my own shirt to see that it was no longer a pretty shade of pale yellow. Instead, I was rocking bumble bee stripes. Although tempted to save my ensemble for Halloween, in the end I decided that the stench would scare away our Trick or Treaters.

All 6 of them. Then again, it would save on the one bag of candy I need to buy.

By the time the diaper change was done, I was covered in poop. The diaper, pajamas, sheet saver, and changing pad cover were frosted with excrement. And after an entire pack of baby wipes and copious use of our garden hose, the baby was finally clean.

Unfortunately, I think my nostrils suffered permanent damage from the scorching odor.

3 comments:

  1. Blowouts are the worst, especially when you have NO IDEA that it's coming. Thanks for the reminder though! :)

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  2. hears a good one for you...
    Logan was sitting on my lap (face to face) and we were just playing when I suddenly felt something really warm on my arm. I looked dow and saw that he had pooped out of his diaper and it was just streaming down my tummy and onto my arm. I looked quickly at the couch and thanked God that it hadn't touched it yet. I changed him...then me. Went back to the couch and saw to my horror that it HAD gotten on the couch EVERYWHERE! (Oh and there was little to no poop in his diaper by the way). Later that day as we were doing Super Baby...he spit up, in my eye and hair. OH it was a fun day!

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  3. One time, Caleb (this was around 3 months) had projectile POOP! The hubby was changing his diaper on our bed when all of a sudden Caleb pooped and farted at the same time! The poop went out in a straight line allllllll the way across the room. We measured it later, wanna guess how far he reached? 10 feet! Is that not just crazy!!!!

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