Hat Trick

Last Monday, we brought Leanne home from the hospital. It’s a weird feeling. We’ve given dozens of people a tour of the house, but this time, we were giving Leanne a tour of her house. It was especially weird when we got to her room. Sure, as parents we have the final say on the room, and realistically we’ll be out of this house well before she’s old enough to want to decorate herself. Regardless, it’s a small part of the house that’s dedicated more to Leanne than to Meg and me.

We got home around 1pm. The following story takes place that night at about 10pm. Keep that in mind; this all transpired within the first 9 hours of the child being home.

I was in the family room on the first floor when I heard Meg calling me. She didn’t sound like she was in the middle of an emergency, but I went upstairs anyway to see what was up.

We keep the pack and play on the second floor, behind the couch. It works out well, since it provides us with a changing table on the second floor (her room and furniture is on the third floor). Meg was in front of the pack and play, but something was different. Let me see if I can describe this properly. She was standing about two feet back from the pack and play, well further than she would have if she was changing Leanne. She was bent over so her hands could touch the changing table, on which I realized Leanne sat.

My immediate fears that something was wrong with her surgery recovery were put to rest when I saw she was laughing. Not too long after, I saw a bright green liquid trail down the front of her shirt.

“She pooped on me.”
“What the hell did you do, pick her up?”
“No.”

I was confused by the situation. If she hadn’t been dumb enough to pick up a naked newborn, how did she managed to poop down her shirt?

The answer, as it were, had actually arrived earlier that day, well before the question. Kristy and I had been text messaging (blech, I feel like such a teenage girl saying that… I personally think anyone over the age of 16 who sends more than one text message a day seriously needs to get their life in check) earlier that day, sending back and forth picture of Leanne and Ryan (her 8 month old daughter, adorable by the way). She asked if we had experienced any “projectile poop” yet, and simply alluded to how awful it was.

Snapping back from the irony of the timing of Kristy’s warning, I went to the changing table to finish the job while Meg cleaned herself up. The new diaper was now already stained, so I grabbed a new one. In that time, the child decided that she wasn’t finished with the fun yet, and chose that opportune moment to pee. A picturesque fountain of urine emerged from my child, continuing to soak both her onesie and swaddle blanket, as well as giving the waterproof changing table a nice thin layer of liquid in which she now sat.

Stunned at our awful luck, we both noticed one key aspect of the adventure: this was the first time we changed Leanne where she didn’t cry. If anyone was wondering, Leanne got my sense of humor and obnoxiousness.

We managed to stumble through the situation. Eventually, we got a clean, dry diaper on to the child. I picked her up so she wouldn’t get any dirtier in the cesspool we once called a changing table while Meg grabbed a new onesie. Not content that her work was done, the half naked child decided to spit up. Right down the front of my shirt.

That makes three different orifices from which the child chose to expel liquids. Two of which managed to hit mom and dad. My child erupted.

Here’s a finally tally of the amount of laundry generated by one changing:
1 Onesie
1 Swaddle Blanket
1 Changing Pad Padding
2 Adult T-Shirts

Never let it be said that Leanne doesn’t have a penchant for the dramatic. She waited until we were home from the hospital, away from the ability to send her away to the nursery for the night, before unleashing this flood of bodily fluids.

This was the first night at home with our new daughter. I’d say this sufficiently qualifies as a bad omen.

Follow Up: Grandpa and Uncle Eric came to visit today for Eric’s birthday. After two peaceful hours of sleeping on grandpa, Leanne needed changing. Meg took that job while I went to start dinner. I chose wisely, as Leanne decided it was another key opportunity to demonstrate the awesome power of her ass. This time, it was much less liquidly and in much greater quantities. I came into the room to find it literally dripping off the front of Meg’s shirt. Let’s take a look at the leaderboards:

Number of times projectile shit on by Leanne
Mom: 2
Dad: 0

Daddy’s little girl indeed.

10 comments

  1. She looks so cute and innocent in all those galleries… now, it seems, the truth has been exposed. 😉

    But projectile poop, wow. Not something I really think about when it comes to kids, I must admit. This will certainly cut down on the number of babysitting offers from me, not that you were going to accept. :)

  2. Stage 2:
    Warm liquid goo phase…

    Warm liquid goo phase… complete!!

    Green poop?? I thought you guys were having “Taco Night” and Meg accidently spilled guacamole on her shirt… GREAT!.. now I made myself sick…I can’t stand guacamole.

  3. Just saw tht photo… too funny..

    she’s concocting a plan to take you guys out.. she’s awaiting for the sharks with frickin’ laserbeams attached to their heads.

  4. Tee hee tee hee. Welcome to my world!! LOL Plan on living for the next year with some form of poop, pee or vomit on you. I can’t tell you how many times my kids have done this to me. My oldest son John once peed while on the changing table and it shot clear across the room and hit the wall on the other side!

    Think the moments that would drive me insane would be you’d feed them, go to change them because they’d always poop while feeding, only to have them fill the new diaper completely full of poop again after you JUST finished snapping the last snap on their outfit.

  5. Ya Heather, we’re at that point now with food largely just passing through Leanne. In the beginning we’d change her before we fed her to wake her up. Now that she’s better about knowing when she needs to eat, it’s a matter of trying to make sure she’s done pooping before daring to take off her diaper.

  6. Here’s a little tip for ya’s….when removing said fidget’s diaper, have a wipe or paper towel (I prefer bounty, quicker-picker-upper ya know) ready so when you open the diaper. you can just drape it over the lower half to prevent splatter whilst wrestling her into a fresh one. She’s still gonna go, but it’ll just hit the barrier and fall down to the table thus alleviating the annoyance of not only being awake in the middle of the night, but you dont have the hassle of changing your own clothes as well as the baby’s! For the stains, I can wholeheartedly recommend shout spray gel, if you spray it right away and leave it overnight, it’ll come out totally when you wash it. Oh, as for the spit up, I think I told ya to get the cloth diapers, they’re nice and long so if you burp her sitting on your lap, you can make a nice size pocket in your lap so the cloth catches it all and not your pants or rug, adjust accordingly depending on the angle :) you want the top of the cloth over your hand, then put your hand under her chin, this way you have a fairly good shot at not having a single drop on ya. I would advise against burping over your shoulder, it either runs down your back or gets in your hair ::ick!:: :dizzy:

  7. Your baby daughter is so beautiful. So she poops a little ….so what! I bet she has the prettiest bottom in town when you clean her up though…am I right? I have 2 children myself (well my husband did have something to do with it) and they both had “accidents” at times. Imagine, going to the doctors office and having your son pee on the doctors tie…yep that’s by boys…they each did it twice. But, what can you do. Just wait til her “poopies” get a little more “human like”. Jay…you’ll have to do what my husband did….use a clothes pin on your nose with an oven mit on one hand and the trash can in the other…yep, that was my husband…I’m so proud.

    Congratulations to you both, enjoy every minute with her, they grow so very fast.

    Michelle

    P.S. By the way my sons are 21 and 19 now. And if I do say so myself, they turned out pretty darn good!

  8. You do bring up a great point Michelle: it doesn’t smell yet. All the laughing and fun blog entries end the moment the kid is spewing a foul stench all over our living room.

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