Snips and Snails and Puppydog Tails

Since I haven’t gotten around to publishing my Hanukkah post yet, some of y’all might not know that last Saturday, Sam came down with his first nasty, retching tummy bug (which, subsequently, Daddy and I both got, but that’s another story, of which I will spare you the details). 

Now, I should also mention that Sam really has been pretty much refusing solids since this tummy bug. Because I’ve been having some supply issues, that means Sam has been getting more formula than usual. Formula has a whole lot more iron in it than breastmilk. Iron is rather constipating. . . (you can see where this is going, right?) Of course, this caught up with Sam by Friday and he didn’t poopy (isn’t it funny how we always say we won’t be “that mom” who always talks about her kid’s poopy, and then we do anyway?) from Friday at school until Sunday mid-afternoon.

Hence, the Worst. Poopy Diaper. Ever. Now, to be fair, I did bring this upon myself. Sam and I went out to run errands Sunday afternoon. We stopped at Bed, Bath & Beyond and World Market, and then went to Walmart for groceries. I messaged Bryan excitedly that I had gotten a Front Row parking spot – FRONT ROW!  (did I mention this was at Walmart? On Sunday afternoon? Less than TWO WEEKS before Christmas?) – as Sam cooed happily in the back seat. As I got him out of the seat, I could smell why he was so happy. He had finally pooped (insert Hallelujah chorus here). NASTY-smelling, but, hey, he hadn’t pooped in nearly 48 hours, what do you expect? I was actually happy he was poopy and it was BEFORE I had a cart full of groceries. So, we got all our stuff together and traipsed into Walmart’s restroom to change His Poopiness’s pants.

Have I mentioned that Sam hates diaper changes? He ESPECIALLY hates them in public places. The kid is modest already, what can I say? As I tell you the rest of the story, you have to hear it with him absolutely screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. So, there we are in the relatively small Walmart bathroom, on the absolutely tiny changing table. When I go to take off his pants, I see it. . . Poopy positively EVERYWHERE. And I’m not talking about the liquidy part leaking out through the legs of the diaper or out the top. I’m talking about mostly solid poopy CAKED all over him – knees to navel POOP.

In hindsight (you know, I hear it’s 20/20), I should have just put him back together, poopy pants and all, and gone home. But I felt like I couldn’t just leave him in that mess for even the 10 minutes it would have taken to get back in the car and to the house. So, I dove in. Picture a poop-covered Sam wriggling and screaming and writhing in apparent agony, and you will realize that we quickly went from Knees-to-Navel poop to Head-to-Toe poop (including a healthy dash or two on my shirt and the Moby that I was wearing). Of course, at this point, I’ve got to just finish, no matter what kind of scene we’re causing.

So, there is my poor infant son, stripped naked in the Walmart bathroom (thankfully we didn’t have any “old faithful moments to add to our glory), being given what can only be called a wipe-bath (Did I mention how oderifous this poopy was? Because it would make your nose run and your eyes water). . . until the wipes gave out (and it’s not like I was low on wipes here). I thought maybe I was THIS lucky as I finished up with the last wipe because I thought I had gotten it all…until I put the new diaper on. I went to wash Sam’s hands at the sink and noticed poopy in his hair and on his ear. Oh, and on the outside of the new diaper from where there was poopy on the changing pad. What to do now? Wipes are all gone, can’t REALLY put the baby in the sink in the Walmart bathroom (though it was probably big enough, and the water was actually warm from the tap), so I grabbed paper towels meant for drying hands.

Now, in case you aren’t familiar with these paper towels – they’re basically glorified toilet paper, which means they dissolve almost instantly on contact with water. But, it was all I had, so it had to do. Finally, after at least 20 minutes, no less than four mothers offering help (for which I will be eternally grateful, even if there wasn’t anything they could do.), I had Sam in true Walmart baby style (diaper only) in my arms, trying to clean up the now poop-covered changing table. That took some talent one-handed (couldn’t put him in the Moby because the poopy on the Moby would have been right at hand and mouth level – EWWW), but even when someone offered to help (I think this was Mom-offer #4, pretty lady with two adorable, potty-trained – okay, they were grade school aged – girls), what am I going to do? I’m not going to hand off my baby to a stranger, no matter how safe he or she probably is, and I’m not going to ask a stranger to clean up my baby’s poop from the changing table. So, again with the flimsy paper towels to wipe up the poopy, and then some hand sanitizer over the surface for good measure.

At this point Sam is barely holding it together (to say nothing of the sweaty, poopy-shirted mess I had become), and I’m not sure I’ve gotten him clean enough to put fresh clothes (which I actually had) on him. I was certainly in no mood to grocery shop anymore, so I wrapped him up in his blanket, packed everything back up, and headed right back out to the car and home. Sam went straight into the tub (queue more screaming here) and then after more meltdown, went down for a short nap.

Like I said. WORST. POOPY. DIAPER. EVER. (feel free to laugh at my novice-momness: I certainly am!)