Parental Initiations

There comes a time in every parents’ life where a moment comes along to welcome you into parenthood. This moment looks you in the eye and screams at you “Hey You! Welcome to the rest of your life!” That day was the day my son pooped on me.

Well, at least it was on my clothes and wasn’t an absolute travesty. Still, it wasn’t something I ever could have prepared myself for in my lifetime, nor something I really ever wanted to happen to me. I’m still a little fuzzy on the details beforehand, but the story really begins during the diaper change anyways. I’d been feeling extra confident lately as Player 3 (my son for those not aware) hasn’t had an accidents in some time with relation to peeing or pooping mid-change. Boy was I wrong. As my wife sat there waiting for me to finish changing him, telling me from the sidelines that I should get the new diaper on him soon just in case of an accident, I told her “It’s fine, It’s fine.” There hadn’t been any poop in the current dirty diaper so I thought I’d make this a quick wipe down and change. After I took off the old diaper and started unfolding the new (something I usually do before I start the change, but didn’t this time), Player 3 started pooping. Actually, it was just more of what we call wet farts (a fart accompanied by a tiny poop). My stubbornness ignored my wife’s requests to cover the baby as I wanted to clean the mess Player 3 had left me on the changing pad and on his bum. The wet fart was just the warning shot. As he’s a breastfed baby, his poop isn’t something that comes out like peanut butter in a somewhat more solid mass. NO. It comes out at almost pure liquid at a surprisingly rapid speed.

Projectile poopy.

 It shot out and across the bed where I changed him and landed on his changing pad, bed sheets, and of course me. I got angry. I wasn’t angry with Player 3, or my wife (although my tone might’ve suggested otherwise), but angry that I didn’t listen to her and cover him up quicker. Also angry that I deviated from my normal changing patterns to watch Player 3 shoot that poop across the bed onto my shirt, pants, and arm.

I guess my moral from the story would be that you should never get too comfortable, as a new parent, changing from routines that obviously work just fine. You never know when your child has one in the chamber just waiting to hit you when you least expect. Also, I officially feel like I’ve been accepted into the parental community with this incident. I’ll try my hardest to never let it happen again, but who knows what else Player 3 has up his sleeve.