Day 359:
Okay Son, this evening was made far to interesting far to quickly... I've been battling yet another 'condition' since before Thanksgiving and the meds I'm taking make me feel pretty awful. Lethargic, tired, achey, and ready to be done with these horse pills, I was more or less puttering around the house and doing not much of anything when I heard your mother screaming for help from upstairs! No matter how bad you feel, Son, when called to action a parent is expected to respond as though the house was on fire. And while we weren't being engulfed in flames, we were a bit engulfed in poo...
By the time I'd made it to the top of the stairs Mommy was holding you out in front of her screaming something to the effect of "oh my God, it's EVERYWHERE!" Still not knowing what she was talking about and expecting there to be seven deadly ninjas for me to fight off, I stopped stunned and said, "What is? What's everywhere?" Mommy just kinda looked at me as though I should know exactly what she was hollering about and then said "POOP! It's everywhere! All over him!" Not knowing exactly what to do I just reached out and grabbed you by whatever area I could that was not poop covered and then calmly said, "Okay, no problem... Just take off his onesie as carefully as you can and I'll get him directly into the tub..." Well, it was the right call, but things didn't happen that smoothly...
Mommy tried to remove your clothes as carefully as she could while I'm holding you up in the air, when all of the sudden the stench of a fresh poop hit me square in the nose like a boxer's jab... Makes me start to give some validity to your Grandpa K9's theory on men raising children... That being, the proper way for a man to father a child is to be in the room for the delivery, then head out for 18 months to fight a war...
It all makes sense now, though I digress...
All the while you're laughing and smiling and just having a time! Not a care in the world. And that's when it happened, Son. The onesie came off, poop smeared all through your hair, up your back, in your fingers, and then it hit me. Literally. With the last tug of the outfit over your head, SPLAT!! Little Conor turds smacked me right in the face...
So gross, Dude.
Unable to react and having to take it as though nothing happened, I moved swiftly to the tub, dropped to my knees, and started trying to rinse you off under the running water, drain plug open so as not to turn the bathtub into a septic tank. And off it all came... I'm not quite sure how it happened, Son, but you had poo in between your toes! It was on your neck!! It was all OVER! This mad scramble persisted for about 5 minutes until I could get you generally rinsed down and then flush the rest of the undesirable-matter from the tub to bathe you proper. All the while with a smear of crap squarely on my cheek.
When the job was done, I didn't even pass go, Boy'O... Straight into the shower! I couldn't even begin to guess where else this disaster was lurking on my skin... Face, arms, fingers, UGH...
That was a bit more of an adventure on a Friday night than either me or your mother have had in some time, Conor. I can honestly say that, to the best of my knowledge, I've never had poop on my face. Not ever. So thanks for that less-than-memorable experience, Son. Just add it to the resume...
Needless to say, considering my state of mind before all of this I am now WIPED OUT. Turning in early, Son. So sleep tight, my extraordinarily clean Son. I'll see you in the morning. Just keep it in the diaper, okay?
I love you, Conor.
-Dad
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