So yesterday I dragged Charlie around the mall on a mission to find a good price on Robeez, the adorable and orthopedically correct leather slippers for infants (because his narrow-minded daycare insists he wear shoes to class and also because my mom offered to buy him some because he looks so darn cute in shoes) and when we got home he was conked out in his carseat. I carried him up to his room and changed his diaper. The thought of putting his shorts back on briefly crossed my mind, as he has been known to escape from his diaper before, but I thought that since he was so tired he would go to sleep quickly without any diaper hyjinx.
A little PSA to my two or three readers who are expecting little ones... NEVER PUT THEM IN THEIR CRIB WITHOUT SOMETHING BETWEEN THEIR LITTLE HANDS AND THOSE DELIGHTFULLY TEMPTING LITTLE TABS ON THEIR DIAPERS.
I am dumb dumb dumb.
So, about twenty minutes later I was sitting on my coffee table watching Maury (because we can't find our remote and channel surfing is impossible from the couch) and Charlie started crying. At first I thought he would settle himself down and go back to sleep but then I noticed something different in his voice. Something that said "I removed my pants and am now totally covered in poop. Please come help me, Mama" perhaps?
Yes, that's exactly what he was saying.
The smell hit me as soon as I got to his door. I carried him (at arms length) over to his changing table and looked at the tiny box of wipes and then back at his long, chubby, poop encrusted legs AND arms. Not only would wipes not work, I would almost certainly get poop all over myself in the process and since I only have three shirts that I like I couldn't take that chance.
Silently cursing myself for feeding him black beans for lunch, I took him into the bathroom (which thankfully does not yet have a rug in it) stripped him down, and put him straight into a bubble bath. He did not object. Once he was clean and dry and dressed in both a tshirt AND shorts, I started on his crib. Everything (bumper, sheet, blankie, Phent, pacifiers) went into the washing machine. I went back upstairs and found more poop on the floor, the wall, the bars of the crib, all over the changing table, and on the bathroom floor. Oh, and on my shorts where he was playing with the hem while I was getting his bath ready.
I found a little more IN HIS EYEBROW later in the harsh glare of the lights at the grocery store. I licked my finger and dabbed at it and smiled at the other mothers like "Heh heh, kids can't eat anything without getting it everywhere." Which in an indirect way is true I guess.
He will be sleeping in thumbless mittens from now on.