The next night was again… sultry. The fear and trembling to fall asleep with the little guy between us was tempered with the fact that between us on our bed were towels – two layers thick underneath the sleeping poop bomb that has a remote detonation switch controlled by Satan himself. The previous night’s ordeal still fresh on our minds as we showed signs of shell shock – like surviving War vets who still refuse to speak of their time in Vietnam. Our only solution was to diaper him tight and pray the dam would not break.
It was early in the night… too early to begin our day but too late to not be sleeping. (can I get an Amen on the timing!) The implosion that happened seconds before the explosion made such a horrible sound. The imploding sound was something like three men gargling salt water out of sync followed by the vacuum sound of that last part where water is sucked down the drain. The silence before the explosion was deafening as both of us had awoken and leapt from the bed. We stood there in the dark dazed, confused, half asleep – but knowing… death may soon visit us…
And then… nothing… no sound… for seconds we thought it was a false alarm. That is just how the enemy of our souls likes to taunt us… false hope followed by utter destruction. If it were not for the smell we would have eased back under our covers and welcomed the morning. If it were not for seeing that dreaded dark wet spot emerging on the little guys pajama pants… the one that is not very big but you realize it’s an iceberg illusion. I knew it was bad when I not only saw the stain on the lower back but one growing on his thigh as well.
I removed his pants and was pleased his legs were dry. The rim of his diaper around his leg… I swear it was pulsing. As I lifted up his shirt… or should I say – pried his shirt off from his back like undoing Velcro, I gasped. This alarmed my wife who had begun gagging and in a panic begged me to deal with it. I grabbed wipes and began the cleanup. It was a good 4 wipe job… until… it happened. He lay only in is diaper in a horizontal sleep… on his side with his back facing me. What happened next should be in a David Lynch movie.
It defied gravity… as if following the path of a river up his spinal column. “Was this a joke” is all I could think of… for about 6 ounces of liquid stuff – in the shape of an ameba from science class – crept out from underneath the waist line part of his diaper. It went about half way up his back before it oozed downward to the blanket. Half his back glistened… for only seconds. Gravity kicked back in and the blanket had absorbed the foul stench. I was grateful we had two towel layers… but that was short lived. For the ameba thing was making its way through the lower blanket. I grabbed another towel and shoved it under as I lifted up the little guy. I pleaded for help as my half asleep wife stood frozen in disgust. She then turned and walked out of the room while calling me a name I did not appreciate.
Cleaning him up was not that difficult for whatever came out of him refused to stay on his body. This was a relief but also causes much distress when wondering – what was that stuff?! I put down new towels under a freshly dressed baby that now rested clean and unaware of what happened. Yes he got poop on his foot during the struggle… but all I could say when it was all said and done was – Thank the LORD he did not throw up on me. We diapered him as we realized he had lost too much weight from being sick and fell back into size 3’s… but we also put a 4 on as well. Double diapering! This went on for several days and worked well. Until today… when I stopped double diapering and thought he was all better. But Poopfoot 4 must wait for another day.
