More Shit Talk

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The other day, while changing Tee’s poopy diaper, the hubs says, “I should start my own cologne line and call it Poopay. Eau de Toilette.” Mocking some random stranger coming to ask him about the new cologne, “Oh my god dude, is that Poopay you’re wearing? It’s the shit man!” That’s how things happen in our household. Nothing but shit talk. It’s the norm for us. Most of the time we are high on shit and we don’t even know it, especially when we’re in the car, like yesterday. It wasn’t until the hubs got out to go pick up a book at the library (yup, we still go to the library. It’s the eco thing to do.) and he opened the car door to get back in and says, “It’s smell like shit in here. And it’s the explosion shit smell honey.” Don’t ask us how we know the severity of the shit, but we just do because we’re shit connoisseurs. The beautiful thing about having an SUV is that the trunk serves a dual purpose, in this case, also a diaper changing station. My husband takes off Tee’s pants and says, “Oh Shit! Babe. You need to come here. I need your help. There’s no way I can clean this up by myself.” Shaking my head and thinking, “Amateur.” So I go to help him and the little man has shit all over his pants and by that I mean like down to his leg and all over his butt. But to tell you that it’s the worse shit he’s ever had would be a lie. Currently we have a tie in the number one spot, but perhaps you can help us decide the true winner of “The Worst Shit” award.

The first incident also occurred while driving. I was 7 moths pregnant with Em and as you guessed it, the husband was on deployment. Tristan and I was on our way back from San Diego. I made the mistake of changing his diaper before we left San Diego and didn’t bother putting his pants back on. So we’re singing “Twinkle Twinkle” when I smelled the explosion. But, I ignored it. I figured we’re only 25 minutes from home so I’ll just keep on driving. A few minutes later I looked at my rear view mirror and saw my son’s face covered with shit. The thought of him eating his own poop made me nauseous and I had to pull over on the side of the road to vomit. After vomiting, I decided to inspect the damage and there it was. Shit everywhere. Down his legs, all over his back (I don’t even how that’s possible). His car seat soaked with shit. It was like a volcanic eruption and lava was just flowing out of the butt hole. We didn’t have the SUV yet so I was in a car and trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to change his diaper and clean all the poop while on the side of the freeway with my big ass belly getting in the way. I used one and a half pack of wipes and it wasn’t enough. But that’s all I had left! Luckily I had a towel in the car and used that as a cover for his car seat. When we got home, I had to run inside immediately to give us both a shower. When I was done with that, I had to hose down the car seat completely and sanitize the car. And I had to take two more showers afterwards. It was disgusting. 5 Shit Stars deserving.

The second incident happened while shopping at Lowe’s. Fortunately, we were still in the Outdoor Garden area. Em was sleeping in her car seat inside the cart and Tee was sitting on the upper cart area. My husband was pushing the cart so he was facing Tee. I was in the front of the cart checking out plants and happened to turn my head to show the hubs something and saw an eruption exploding from Tee’s butt. I mean, I saw diarrhea pushing itself up his back! Then down to his legs and started dripping all over.  Husband was freaking out (amateur) and had to rush the cart outside to go back to the SUV (but not before asking one of the associates if he can have some plastic bags to use as a changing pad) so he can clean up our son. He left diarrhea trail on his way out all the way to the SUV. He had to tell one of the Lowe’s workers to sanitize the cart. We never came back to that Lowe’s again.

Sadly I know that this will not be the last of the poopy adventures. But I’m waiting for the day that I will no longer have to look at another diaper again. Quite frankly, it’s also a romance killer. I change so much shit throughout the day that one evening, when the kids were finally both asleep and the hubs and I were spending some much-needed QT, with the anticipation of eventual love-making, when I thought I smelled shit. I turned to my husband and asked him, in my most serious face, “Do you have shit in your pants?” I think it’s time for potty training. One day when the hubs and I are old and are wearing Depends, these little turds better show us their gratitude by changing our shit. They have no idea what’s coming for them. Karma’s a bitch.

Laters Stinkers,

Cate

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