Since my writing time is short in light of the potty-training currently under way, I’m sharing the following epic poop story from my November 2007 archives. Don’t laugh TOO hard – poop karma will get you. (And when it does, you better share your story!)

It was a warmish fall day, so I took the three youngest kids to a park to play. The city had replaced the old playset, swingset, and wood mulch with concrete sidewalk, brand new playset, and recycled rubber mulch. Unfortunately, this park has only a portable toilet — no running water of any sort and no changing table.

I like to think I’m an experienced mother. I’ve had four babies, been changing diapers and feeding kids and cleaning messes and washing clothes for 7 1/2 years now. I’ve had more than the usual motherhood experiences too, since I have two kids with medical needs. Especially when it comes to diapers and their contents, I’ve seen it all.

At least, I thought I had. Until this day.

While the older two kids played, I gave Little Boy a bottle. I normally breast-feed, but a dad was there with his kids, and I didn’t have my super-large-but-lightweight blanket to cover up with. At one point, he (Little Boy, not the dad) grunted, and I heard minor rumbling.

You’ve heard the time “silent but deadly?” Yeah… my mommy brain forgot.

Until I turned him around to burp him and felt a wet spot on his back.

I pressed it. It. Squished.

He had defied gravity and pooped up. An astonishing quantity of mustard-yellow poop spread all the way up to between his shoulder blades. How do babies this small generate that much of the stuff every two hours?

Oh, I nearly forgot. He was wearing a onesie that only comes off over the head.

Now I’ve seen poop go up before. But I don’t remember being away from home or having little 6×8-inch semi-transparent wet wipes available for the clean-up. This was a hose-him-off-in-the-tub kind of mess. And the onesie issue was the biggest challenge of all. I really didn’t want to smear poop over his head, face, hands, or all over me during the removal.

Holding him far out in front of me, I made for the van. Somehow, while holding him away from me, I laid out all my supplies like a surgeon prepping for a procedure.

  • Change of clothes. Check.
  • Clean diaper. Check.
  • Wipes, with several pulled out already. Check.
  • Spit-up cloth laid out as a changing pad. Check.
  • Plastic bag for the mess. Check.

My first plan of attack: attempt to reduce the amount of poop on his person before attempting onesie removal. I removed the diaper, scooping as much poop from his bottom with it as I could before dropping it on the parking lot. Next, I cleaned the diaper region thoroughly and wiped as much off as much poop as I could from above that region before putting a clean diaper on.

Then, I sat him up. He was still quite floppy when sitting up, so I draped him over one arm while, with one hand, I tried to roll up the onesie, thereby containing the poop within its folds. I rolled it up an inch at a time, wiping as I went. He got quite upset because he was suddenly cold. I struggled to hold onto the slippery angry wiggler.

Oh, and yes, I had poop all over my hands.

Despite my best efforts, the mess was so great that I still ended up smearing poop up his back, into his hair, and onto both arms as I slid the rolled-up onesie over his head. It took at least 7 more wipes to get us both clean enough to redress him.
I poured the entire contents of my hand sanitizer bottle on my hands once the disposable mess was deposited in a trash can and the washable mess stowed in a plastic bag.

Little did I know, that was not the end of it.

Disaster-Boy would have gotten a bath as soon as we got home, but I had to put his older siblings down for a nap, scrub myself from fingers to armpits, and soak the yellow-stained clothes in a vain attempt to prevent staining. By that time, it was feeding time again.

And what do you know? He pulled the exact same stunt again: shot poop up his diaper, onto my jeans, and onto the floor.

He didn’t get a real bath until that night, in case he had more tricks up his diaper.

What’s your best poop story?