The Great Poop Extravaganza

When it came to starting a blog, I read a lot of what to do and not do. You're supposed to do something unique - get people on the hook. When it came to starting MY blog, I knew exactly what I wanted to post about first and I didn't care much if it fit the mold.

Poop. Yesssss, poop. And the reason is simple: I recently sent an email to a dear friend of mine detailing the poop-capades I had recently endured with my now one year old child. Her response was this: “My only request here on out is that you start a blog because 1) this is incredible and 2) only YOU could handle this with comedy. 

My first post is dedicated to Sarah Valencia, for her support and inspiration. I'll talk more about Sarah and her beautiful photography work in another post that doesn't involve excretory functions, because I'm sure she'd appreciate not being correlated with this any further.

So here we are: starting a blog and really, what better way than with a comedic story of motherhood? What mother (or father) can't relate to something like this? Buckle up folks, it's a messy one.

Let’s set the scene. My friends and I had agreed to meet for brunch since I was in town to see my grandma and had a little free time. I thought to myself, I never take my child. I never want to “inconvenience” anyone. She’s been “good” lately (side note: isn't it funny how we determine if a child is good or bad based on whether or not they poop/cry/commit other trivial acts that don't – or shouldn’t – actually determine how good or bad we think a child is?). I’ll take her this time, make sure to change her before so she won’t need to there and make sure she’s hungry so she’ll be distracted by eating and won’t cry (you know what they say about the best laid plans).  

One of my friends suggested an adorable little French creperie and coffeehouse in downtown KC. Now, I’m not sure I should tag them with the story I’m about to tell, but I can’t go on without mentioning that this restaurant is adorable and has over twenty varieties of savory and sweet crepes. I highly recommend you visit...without your child. Unless your child doesn’t poop and/or require diapers, then go for it.

Now, my daughter WAS good. She’s a GOOD kid. I mean, she’s one so how bad can she really be at this point. But by how we define “good” in our world (e.g. doesn’t fuss a lot, doesn’t create much of an inconvenience, etc.), she’s really good. She was a little fussier than normal today, likely because it was hot as balls in the creperie and secondly because she was teething. Teething for some doesn’t mean a lot. Teething for us means drool, fevers and, important to this story, diarrhea. 

We were seated, received our food, and after a few minutes of eating, I noticed it. The wet ring of doom around her midsection that told me she’d pooped her pants and holy Moses, it was out of her diaper and up her back already.

This was not good.

I picked her up and said, “I think we need to go to the bathroom!” in the most sing-song voice I could muster to hide my distress. I picked up the bag and headed toward the one-person bathroom I knew was awaiting us. Of course, someone else was inside. While standing and waiting, I could start to feel “wet” on my arm where her back was hitting my sleeve. Oh no. Poop juice.

We finally got in. Of course, no changing table. Not even a counter to lay the portable mat on. I took a deep breath and laid her on the bathroom floor. I start to strip off her clothes as carefully as possible and roll them up in a plastic bag that I luckily had (I'd recommend a laundry bag if you do not have a "wet" pocket in your diaper bag). I took off her diaper and basically wrestled her to wipe her off. Poop juice. At this point, she was screaming so I let her stand up as I started to pull out her extra clothes, a clean diaper and a clean shirt for myself (another tip: try to keep spare clothes for baby and maybe a shirt for yourself in case of such an event). 

She proceeded to run around this one person bathroom naked, screaming and waving her arms. Finally she stopped, looked me right in the eye and screamed one more time. She squatted where she stood. She peed. Everywhere. I’ve never seen such a spectacle.

I just stared. I had no idea what to do. So I did what any half insane mom would do in this situation. I started laughing. Half because it was actually hilarious and half because I was so exasperated and it seemed a reasonable alternative to screaming/crying at the time. I used my foot to take her diaper that I’d laid out and started to sop up as much pee as I could. I then took some Wet Ones I had, and tried to clean the tile floor as best as possible. She was happier now that she’d emptied her bladder, so I threw a dry diaper on her, changed my shirt, tossed everything in her diaper bag and went back outside.

We finished breakfast, I loaded the baby in the car, and called my husband to recount the acts. Each time I told the story, it became more and more hilarious to me.

To this day, I have no idea if my friends really knew what was happening in that bathroom. I thought about yelling for them at one point, but again, didn’t want to inconvenience them. I also probably should have told someone there to go mop the floors, but I will say that I did a pretty thorough job with that pack of Wet Ones. Anyways, I apologize, little restaurant. You are adorable and didn’t deserve to be the setting of our poop-losion.

But maybe consider a changing station or at least a flat surface inside of the bathroom...please?

Please comment/share below. I’d love to hear any stories of your own or tips that might make this experience more pleasant for a different mommy/daddy!