There’s a story going around on Facebook about a roomba running into some dog poop in the middle of the night and causing a big big mess.

Well, I’m here to tell you that you don’t need a roomba or dog poop to have a poonami of epic proportions – you just need a 2 year old.

Boyo has started pulling off his diaper during the middle of the day. At first I thought it might be a sign that he was ready for potty training, but it was so random that I wasn’t entirely sure. I watch a 1 year old occasionally, and he likes to do it a lot, so I thought maybe Boyo picked it up from him. Or maybe it was just because it’s been hot and humid lately and running around naked feels good. Who knows.

All I know is that I’ll look away for a second and suddenly he is naked, and his diaper is nowhere to be found. Sometimes I’m fast enough and I can catch him, and sometimes I’m not and something gets christened. Then I get to spend the next five or ten minutes cleaning up the mess while he giggles and munches away on goldfish.

I’ve noticed that he only does it when I’m out of sight though, so I’ve been following him around the house to prevent any further incidents. And so far I’ve been successful at catching him before that waistband goes any further than his hips.

We had a few good days though. We went at least 5 days without any diaper incidents. So I foolishly thought that maybe we were finally over the diaper ditching nightmare.

I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

I stepped out to take out the trash. When I came back I noticed Boyo was waiting for me on the other side of the kitchen gate.

Then I noticed he was naked.

Then I noticed the smell.

Then I saw it.

There was poop in the living room and the dining area. Poop in the hallway and his bedroom. Poop on the toys. Poop on the books. And little poop footprints leading from one area to the next because it was all up and down his chubby legs.

All this occurred in the minute it took me to take out the trash.

After I recovered from the shock, Boyo promptly went on the tub, and then in his crib while I scrubbed and cleaned and inspected EVERYTHING to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Heck, I even took a Qtip and cleaned the little lines in between the laminate floor boards.

Once I was sure the house was clean, and I had used up all the swiffer pads and disinfectant, I released the creature of mass destruction from his holding cell. He, stealing a page out of the cat’s play book, decides to be cute, because Momma can’t be mad at him if he’s being cute. So he climbs up on my lap for hugs and kisses.

Which is when I notice that I did miss a spot – he had a streak of brown stuff on his chin.

Now I can cuss like a sailor, but I try not to do so in front of my son. He may have a speech delay, but he is picking up words left right and center now, and the last thing either his dad or I want is for him to drop an F-bomb during Sunday school. But I couldn’t help it. The ‘oh, shit’ just slipped past my lips.

And then I laughed and laughed and laughed until I cried while my kid just sat there giving me kisses with his poopy face.

We’re both clean now, but please send bleach. I have a feeling I may need it again, probably sooner than later.

A nice strong margarita, or, dare I say it, a mudslide would be appreciated too. Lord knows momma needs it after all that.

2 thoughts on “Pootastrophy 

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