Deliver Me From...Poop

I thought Neal was a squirmy baby. People told me, "He's a boy! Boys are much harder to change than girls. Girls lay still, boys are more… physical."

What a load of HOOEY! Ever since Ella learned to roll over, changing her diaper has been like competing in a wrestling match. Now that she's pulling herself up to a standing position, I feel like I am sparring with a worthy UFC contestant. Watch out George St. Pierre.

Today was an exceptionally rousing sporting event.

I could tell that Ella was wet when I lifted her out of her crib after her nap. What I came to realize, en route to the change table, was that she wasn't just wet. She was dirty… really dirty. Poop was oozing out of her pant legs and sleeves. She was like one of those play-doh dolls that sprouts limbs when you push on their heads. In nearly three years as a parent, I had never seen an explosion quite like that, and, as mother to Neal James, that is saying a lot.
I soon realized that there was fecal matter on my clothes. Disgusted, I knew that trying to contain this mess was a lost cause.

I know this is an unpleasant topic, so I am going to attempt to describe the following scene as politely as possible: There was kicking, punching, screaming. And, there was shit from here to Shubenacadie (to those of you unenlightened, that is a real place in Nova Scotia.)

After stripping Ella and giving her a pre-rinse, I threw her in the tub, and shed my own soiled clothes and hopped in the tub with her. Neal, who had just learned to dress and undressed himself, thought this was the perfect excuse to practice his skills. What's could be better than watching Winnie-the-Pooh, while Mommy is distracted with his poopy sister? Why, watching Winnie-the-Pooh in the nude, of course!

He ran into the bathroom to inform me that he was also going to take his diaper off.

"Neal! Please, leave your diaper on! And NO! For the love of God, whatever you do, DON'T take your socks off. Morley's already thrown up twice today." (Morley eats socks. More information for the unenlightened)

I finished bathing Ella and put a diaper on her, confining her to a playpen prison while I, armed with bleach and determination, set out on a mad quest to disinfect every surface in the bathroom. I hopped back in the tub for a post-cleanse shower for good measure.

Wrapping a towel around my torso…my lower torso, the girls on display, I was about to run downstairs to get clean clothes when, through the front door window, I spied two well-dressed ladies on the sidewalk. They were approaching our gate. Instinctively, I crouched to the floor and hobbled back to the bathroom (there is no way of to get past our doorway to my closet, without being seen by these broads).

Ella, content in her playpen cell, was engaged in one of her favourite activities: brushing her teeth. Neal on the other hand, still nude, was getting curious. Morley, not to be left out of the chaos, suddenly discovered the existence of the aspiring trespassers and began barking excitedly, and as ferociously as is possibly for a doodle. This caused Neal to start jumping up and down, yelling: "Mommy, Mommy, someone!" Yes jumping… buck naked in front of a wide open living room window.

"Neal! Come here!" I hissed from the hallway.

"NO!", the typical response. The doorbell rings.

Morley was proudly defending her territory while Neal is performed his dirty dancing act at the window. I was essentially paralyzed, impotent. "Go away!" I silently urged them.

The bell rings again.

At this point I ran out of options. I popped my head out the bathroom window and though I couldn’t actually see the strangers at the door, I maintained my composure. "It's not a good time, I'm...um...bathing the baby!" I announced.

"That's okay. Could we leave a copy of our magazine for you and maybe come back another time?"

"Magazine?"

"It's called, The Watch Tower."

"Er...No Thank you"

The Jehovah’s Witnesses at my door left without further ado, and I breathed a long sigh of relief.

Once the coast was clear, I hurried downstairs and quickly got dressed. I then returned to dress the kids. It occurred to me that the team Watch Tower cheerleaders had come to my door to "save" me. I did in fact need saving that afternoon... I had been defeated in battle on the change table and it stunk - both literally and figuratively.

To quote the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche: "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." I hope ol’ Freddy knew what he was talking about because at the rate Ella is growing, I'm going to have to be stronger than I’ve ever been in my life if I'm to contend with her when she starts walking.

Jehova, help us all...