Son #2 was fresh and shiny from his fantastically warm and bubbly bath. He was wrapped in a green goldfish towel. I was pulling out his diaper, a dress shirt, fashionable baby jeans, and a cool puffy vest. He was going to be stylin'.
While talking with my mom on the phone and laying out the diaper, I heard grunting. Oh no.
I said to my mom. "Hang on a second. The baby is making a funny noise." Then, mayhem ensued.
A wad of poop fell from Son #2's upright hiney onto the floor. Sadly it was not "man poop" and fortunately it was not diarrhea. Unfortunately, it was a median of the two. The poo fell to the floor like frozen yogurt.
I screamed. "Nooooooooooooooooo! Oh nasty!"
My mom laughed and said. "I'm going to let you go."
Frantically, I grabbed for the container of wet wipes and then watched in dismay as another clump of soft serve poo slithered down my baby's leg. Then, Son #2 stepped into the two piles of poo. The Horror.
Quickly, I grabbed one of Son #2's tiny yet nasty legs and attempted to sterilize it with the wipes. My poor baby hung onto his furniture for dear life as I leaned him this way and that swabbing away any remnant of feculence that might try to elude me.
Eventually, Son #2 was clean and shiny albeit not as fresh. The floor was clean as well and the essence of poop had been removed from the building. I guess I should be thankful this post isn't entitled "Poop in the Tub".