Skip to content

Blog Articles

  • Hidden
  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.

An Epic Poop Story

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?

  • Hidden
  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.



Let’s keep in touch.

Sign up to my occasional newsletters and stay up to date on all things writing and community-related.

  • Hidden
  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.