This past Sunday my husband left early for a meeting at church. Stormy and I were playing in the living room when a noxious smell permeated the room. It doesn’t take a special degree to assess where the smell originated from. I took Stormy to change his diaper. Got him set up on the table and prepared for why I thought would be a routine diaper change.
I was unprepared for what I saw. It was super Ezra creamy and stuck to his bum like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth.
That wasn’t the worst of it though. Stormy’s little chunky hands first went for the diaper-I had to move it to the side with superhero speed. He didn’t seem to mind or care as his hands, in one fluid motion, changed direction to his bare, feces covered bum. His right hand struck the massive poo, sticking to his fingers like molasses. With one hand still holding his legs to reduce fecal damage to the changing mat, I tried to wipe his fingers but he yanked them away, getting poo on his other hand. Then he reached for me with his tainted fingers. I jumped away from my child as though he’d turned zombie, however I still managed to hold on to his legs. Knowing my backup for diaper changes was miles away and unable to help, I cried for mercy, “please! I’m all alone!”
I gave up on saving the changing pad, that could be washed. I cleaned up his fingers as much as he would allow and then focused on the source of the poo. It took hundreds of wipes.
I finally got the bum under control, then the fingers again before taking him to the bathroom to scrub him down. I removed the changing pad cover and replaced it with a clean one and then scrubbed my own hands several times more. Yet- the smell of poo haunted me the rest of the day.
It may be time to consider potty training.