This picture has nothing to do with this post (thank goodness), but it’s cute, so enjoy.
It happened during the throes of my postpartum, hormonal days. My love bug was sleeping in three hour stretches and I was insecure in my mommy abilities, and oh yes…a bit sleep deprived. In those early days my husband woke up with us, helped me get situated to nurse our baby girl and offered words of encouragement.
One night after only about an hour or so of sleep I was roused by a low rumble. The rumble transitioned to a squirty blast and I was jolted awake by a sound that should have come out of a 300 pound man and not from my precious nine pound girl.
Somehow, through the boom my husband didn’t stir. He managed to sleep through the commotion coming from our daughter’s diaper. He didn’t even wake up even when I groaned and sulked out of bed for yet another diaper change — this one sure to induce gags and look like a scene from a sci-fi movie.
I brought baby Jax to the living room and left the hall light on to illuminate our way. In the dimness, I placed her on the over-sized ottoman, our makeshift changing table, and inhaled deeply before I undid her diaper, unleashing the mess within. Ugh. During the removal Jax plunked her foot in the goopy nastiness, then promptly plunked the soiled foot on the back of my hand, leaving a nice smear of turd. Beautiful.
I ignored the mess on me and finished the daunting task of cleaning the mess on her. When I was done and she was slathered with diaper cream and in a fresh diaper, I paused for a moment to catch my breath which I had been holding. In those moments, I had forgotten there was poop on my hand and brushed a wild tangle of hair off my face….with the back of my hand...yup, the one with crap on it.
I was actually quite surprised by my own reaction as I felt my hand slide across my cheek towards my ear, painting a nice stripe of fresh poop. I was completely calm as I realized I’d just swiped doo-doo on my face. I looked at my baby as she cooed with contentment and all I could do was laugh.
After I cleaned my face with a baby wipe I settled down to nurse my sweet girl back to sleep, happy that my husband missed out on the first-time I got shit-faced with our daughter. It was a special moment between the two of us – she bore witness as I baptized myself into the wonderful, crazy and often nasty world of motherhood.
Tell me your gross-out stories. We all have them. And while you’re in the commenting mood, don’t forget to leave one on last Friday’s post for a chance to win one of two BabyLegs prize packs.
I have not yet swiped poop on my face (but I know it shall happen before potty training, at least once), but I knew my little angel had inducted me into the Motherhood after: throwing up on me, peeing on me after bath, pooping on me on our way to the bath, a giant spit-up bordering on vomit, and our first costume change due to diaper blow-out.