Imagine my surprise when Dennis did not wake me up until 8:10 am this morning, even though he went to bed at 6 pm last night. I was pleasantly surprised by the lateness of the hour and went in to see to him, still rubbing my eyes and trying to quickly restrain my hair into a ponytail so he wouldn't grab hold of it and use it to pull himself up while I was lifting him from the crib. Something wasn't quite right. Why was a diaper in the crib with him, lying open? What was that brown stuff on his eyebrow and his hands? OH MY GOD. Did he actually TAKE OFF HIS OWN DIAPER and then POOP in the crib? Yes, he did. I realized this just as I was lifting him, saw he was standing in just his t-shirt and that his bottom was bare. There was brown matter on the crib sheet and crib bumper. There was a huge, adult-sized turd in the crib. I wanted to call for help, but David left early to work today, but then I called him anyway because the carnage was so awful. He was headed back home anyway, having finished his errand. I told him he'd find us in the bathtub. We washed the baby, me, the t-shirt, the crib sheet, the crib bumper, the waterproof mattress protector, the crib rails, the crib sides, the pacifier, and Froggy (who fortunately survived a ride in the washing machine with absolutely no damage, just significant poo removal). I was horrified throughout it all. Dennis didn't seem to mind so much.
We got all the washing done, and we ate breakfast (though nothing with gravy or chocolate or anything brown), and I thought maybe the grossness quotient for the day had been met.
This afternoon we went for ice cream, and the picture shows him eating and enjoying some banana ice cream from Coldstone. On the way home, he napped, and then he woke up and discovered he was still in his car seat, still TRAPPED in the moving car, and he got furious. He cried and cried, and we could not pacify him. He cried so hard that he threw up all over himself, his car seat, and the vehicle carpet below his car seat. More clean up. More stink. More grossness factor. He of course calmed down after barfing up half the ice cream and a couple of hot dog pieces from way earlier in the day, but MY nerves were certainly shot! Once we got home, he crawled into my lap and leaned his head on my shoulder and just snuggled. I could tell he didn't feel well, and cuddled him for a while before putting him in his crib to nap. He slept for almost 3 hours before waking up belching loudly, and we wondered if we should feed him or not. He cried for a while, then perked up, walked out his bedroom door, demanded juice and went to his high chair and said "EAT!". We gave him chicken and rice, and he ate it hungrily. He was in a great mood after dinner, oozing cuteness instead of grossness, and we enjoyed playing in his room and reading books to him for a while before bed. He was acting like he felt tons better, and I'll admit that we did sneak in a tylenol dose when he was so upset after waking up. We're due for a major teething event, and though he won't let us look in his mouth to check, I think we are getting some incisors. Or we're getting a stubborn and angry little toddler asserting his independence, or maybe a little of both (though the latter wouldn't have been cured by tylenol, so we still have hope that it's the former). Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Long ago, I wished for a Plastic Parent Suit, back in the breastfeeding and explosive diaper phase, and again today I thought about it. They don't make a baby-poop-and-barf cleaning robot. But they should.
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