Just for the record…

…going into my child’s room at night in response to Mega-Screaming, to change a diaper full of diarrhea and clean the shit off of his face and hands is NOT the definition of My Ultimate Fantasy. (I swear, he got some in his mouth. *gag*)

I mean, there was no Kiefer Sutherland, anti-gravity underwear, perfect boobs for life, endless supply of calorie-free chocolate, or no-cost, worry-free daily babysitting offer in there ANYWHERE.

And wait… wait… let me check… no. I did not have the world’s largest, multiple orgasm at any time before, during, or after the event. (by the way, if I had? I’d be seeking therapy RIGHT NOW.)

And nobody has come to my door to offer doing my dishes, laundry, and to vacuum my carpets for the rest of my natural life.

Additionally, in case you were wondering, I have not found the deed to my private island lying around anywhere.

Also, there is still cellulite on my ass cheeks.

So, confirmation: it had NOTHING to do with any ultimate fantasy of mine.

It was just runny excrement. YAY!

(Why, oh why, do they have to get curious and stick their hands in there?)

PS: Don’t worry, I’m no Poop Newbie. This is the home of Scatastrophe.

On the serious? Stop it, Braden.

I know that Braden
really loves me when he makes
the special effort

to work up a crap
in the middle of the night.
Then he screams for me.

Have you ever crapped
just because you missed someone?
I am so fla-turd.

(insert eye roll here)

Scatastrophe

All the poo in the world was smeared into my living room carpet last night.Ok. So maybe not ALL the poo. But it sure SMELLED like all the poo.

Oh, before I go deep into this, I’m going to be a nice girl (please be appropriately shocked) and warn you that if you are squeamish about things like stinky, smooshy DOODOO, then you might not want to hang around for long.

And if you can stand reading about it, but seeing a picture would make you toss… well. Yeah. I’m postin’ pictures on this here biznatch.

So. Have I thinned the crowd? Oh COME ON PEOPLE. If I see you leave the room, I SWEAR I’m handing out Atomic Wedgies.

And you there, mister. I know you LIKE them, so that goes opposite for you. No wedgie for you if you leave.

*points at misguided pervert #52*

Ahem.

So. Yeah.

By the way, as some of you will recall, this is definitely not the first time we’ve had a Turdrageous Experience around here. And it’ won’t be the last, I’m sure.

Anyway…Last night, I made the IDIOTIC mistake of assuming that since my lovely, sweet-smelling son had already massively unloaded into his diaper right after dinner, that another fecal catastrophe would not be scheduled for the span of about, oh, let’s say AT LEAST 10 minutes.

I took off his diaper, did the necessary cleaning, and decided that he could have a good long run around with no pants on.

See, Braden is insanely vulnerable to getting diaper rash – and when I say rash, I mean awful, horrible, make-you-want-to-curl-up-in-a-ball-and-die-just-from-being-the-witness-to, weeping, oozing, bloody wounds on his sad, poor little tender biscuits.

If you look at my kid’s ass the wrong way, it turns red.

So we always give him at least 5 minutes of air drying time… and whenever we think “the time is right” we allow him to run naked.

When your kid takes a huge dump, you tend to think the time is right. You don’t expect another one for awhile.

My advice here for anyone thinking the same way: Don’t be an idiot.

And especially don’t think this when you just fed your kid beans and barley soup.

He ran joyfully to the living room and began playing with his toys, uttering the sweet little Toddlerese gibberish and squealie laughs of baby happiness that make a Mama’s heart feel happy.

I excused myself to check e-mail in the next room.

I could hear his little exclamations of joy and discovery.

Less than 5 minutes passed, and there was a bit of quiet. Then footsteps.

He came into the room. So did the odor.

I made eye contact with him. He turned around and started heading out again, quickly.

“Braden JAMES!”

(I warned you.)