I Kissed His Poop

So many titles could have graced the headline of this blog post.

The Dirty Truth

Full of Crap

Covered in Poop

Stink of Motherhood

But nothing really resonated as much as I kissed poop... which is exactly what I thought with a huge face palm doh moment in my mind as I kissed it.  Of course it was not intentional.  Poop got on my son's arms and I washed it off... then, wanting to make sure it was scrubbed enough, I leaned in close to take a whiff... missed and ended up kissing some of the poop...  which was really more like diarrhea but poop sounds better than I kissed number 3.  Yes, by the color and texture, I should have known and not even have gotten close with my nose, but one does not think logically when caught in a stressful situation like this.  At least I did not.

This morning, Jordan and I went to our local "My-Gym" for free gym play time with Jessie and her mom!  My mom wanted Jordan and I to go to some Mommy and Me classes (with my work at home schedule and her close by, I don't make the effort to get with other moms for playdates as often as I should) so she paid for us to go for a few months.  So far, Jordan's loving it and the open crawl space and new toys always excite him.  However, this morning.. he looked gloomy.  Like something was on his mind.  Like he was distracted.  He was probably not feeling well.. as moments after we left, he yelled in his carseat while stretching out as if to break loose from the carseat.  We were on our way to Target when a huge fart-o-riffic- came out and I immediately flipped a U and turned us around to go home.

We got home five minutes later... and as I unbuckled Jordan from his carseat (he had fallen asleep at this point), I felt his back... soaked.  I took a blanket in the car (always have extra blankets in the car!), wrapped it around him from waist down, and noticing the carseat cushions were also plagued, took those with me as well.  Somewhere along the way, I think poop got on my jacket or my face... but I didn't notice... my only mission was to get to the apartment from the guest parking lot (it's actually a long walk.. I think a quarter of a mile) with Jordan propped in one arm, without his poop getting on more of me, and the obnoxiously overstuffed diaper bag on my other arm and my small purse, which I began using to store just my wallet and phone for times when I leave Jordan with Andy or want to run an errand and the diaper bag is close by in the car....

Off to the apartment we went.  It was a difficult journey.  It really did feel long.  My arms are really a lot more toned than they used to be because of Jordan.  We eventually made it.  Many breaths, spoken words of encouragement from myself, and steps later.  

Once inside, I assessed the damage.  Somehow, the diarrhea made its way to the outside of the diaper... into his pants...up his back... onto his onesie... and a little bit of the long sleeve shirt I put over his onesie.  So trying to take off his clothes... only made it worse as the poop got partially on his arms... and up higher on his back.  The blanket also had gashes of leftover remnants.  All I could think to do was wash off the poop.  So into the sink he went.... and then I noticed it on his arms... and without thinking, I washed and once done... bent over to smell his arms to make sure the stink was gone.... and that's when it happened.

I kissed his poop.

I know I should have just LOOKED at it.  But really.. my senses weren't functioning entirely.  I thought SMELLING it would somehow be superior to LOOKING at it.

That's not even the scariest part.  The scariest part is I was completely unfazed.  I knew what had to get done.. and I worked like a madwoman, washing.. scrubbing... cleaning... disinfecting...and laughing hysterically while wondering if my phone was within reach for some post poop photos... madwoman I tell you!

Notice the bright mustard color?

I have had a mustard obsession for a few years now.  All of a sudden, mustard clothing doesn't seem that desirable anymore.