I made the great big mistake last week of bragging that Sophie had never had a poop blowout. And by that I mean we've never had something that made me shake my head in awe at the sheer quantity of the poop and the acreage of body parts it covered. We've occasionally had a little bit mush out a side, but never anything really bad. Until Saturday. We had her in the Bumbo, working on feeding her some carrots. Which was actually going pretty well. The carrots are sweet, and she was eating them up when I heard the tell-tale sound of expulsion. Neil actually calls the Bumbo the "Poop Seat," because it so reliably brings one on. Note to self: Adult sized Bumbo as constipation aid, hmm.
Well, because there was no precedent for atomic poopie, I didn't race to get her upstairs for a change. In fact, I will often let her stew for a few minutes awaiting a possible round two. (This should be an addendum to the Never List.) So, we leisurely finished the carrots and I carried her upstairs to her changing table. At this point, I was still unaware that there was a problem, although if I'd taken the time to look IN the Bumbo before wandering off, I would have known (shudder). When I laid her down on the changing table, I was still blissfully unaware. As I undid the snaps on her little jeans, though, I began to see evidence of trouble. Even then, I didn't realize the scope of the problem. It was not until I got the jeans fully undone and hiked up to her waist that I began to understand. There was not a body part, except her head, that was spared. I'm not even sure how it could have gotten to some of the areas it got to. It took no less than 20 wipes just to get her cleaned off and even then she had to have a bath.
The moral of this story is never brag about disgusting things your kid HASN'T done. It angers the gods and you will be visited with something three times viler than you could ever have imagined.