A tale of peril and woe

I have been called fearless...audacious...bold... I had my wisdom tooth removed; sans anesthesia. I gave birth to a 9 1/2 pound baby; vaginally. I made my husband cut his hair once. I killed a scorpion with a shovel. I wax every summer. Minstrals have been known to sing of me.

But today. Today I almost met my match.

Now those of you that are parents will know what I mean when I say the words "blow-out". Many of you will even ask, as did my husband, "Was it a bad one? Was it a throw-away-the-outfit-and-cut-your-losses-blow-out?" And I would answer no...oh no it was so much worse. This was a burn-your-house-down-and-count-yourself-lucky-blow-out. This was epic. Minstrels will never sing of this day, out of respect, for the dead.

Let me set the scene.

Zeke had just finished eating no less than a cup and a half of applesauce for lunch. It was roughly a half hour passed his nap time and he was still going strong playing underneath the table with a spoon. I was on I.M. with my husband. Probably complaining that Zeke wasn't tired. I don't really remember. My memory right before the "event" is a little fuzzy.

But that is when it happened. And it started with a smell. The words "chemical warfare" came to mind, but then I also heard a noise. Grunting. And something else I don't think I have the stomach yet to describe.

I quickly told Josh I was going to change a diaper and then force Z to take his nap. The naivete! I still didn't know what I was up against.

Panic began when I laid Zeke down on his changing table suddenly to notice there was poop all the way up my arm. My arm! And my shirt! Another white shirt gone.

I breathed slowly. I started repeating my birthing mantra. I took off my shirt. "I can do this," I told myself. Just breathe thru it.

But then I looked down at my son.

It would be more logical to name the places of his body that were NOT covered in feces. But it is more therapeutic to name all the places that were. So it had gone up his back all the way into his hair line, where it looked like he had smeared it into his ear and across his face while I took my shirt off. He was now rubbing both hands in it and I used my last ounce of strength to throw a binky in his mouth before it went THERE. At this point I think I blacked out for a few seconds.

It was only when I came back that I noticed it was also seeping out of both the leg-holes of his jeans. Into his socks. Where is the safe exit point!?! I really started to panic now. Usually if the poo goes down I pull his onesie down, if it goes up I pull the onesie up! I contemplate scissors. I dont think I can carry him into the kitchen to get some. I dont want to touch him at all, to tell the truth. Nor do I want to have to throw away my good scissors.

Meanwhile Zeke is having a grande old time playing with his own poop but is starting to get impatient to get back to the ground. He starts flailing around, which is just splattering it all over the carpet, the walls, me... I have to think fast. Its time for action.

I hold my breath, say a prayer, and as quickly as possible take off all his clothes using only two fingers. The sight I behold cannot be explained in words. Wipes seem ridiculous.

I pick him up, holding him as far away from my body as possible, and carry him to the tub. I resist the urge to physically throw him in and start the water. Soon I have to start washing. I begin with throwing cups of clean water at him from afar. That helps. It gets him at least to the point where I can safely touch him. Soap, water, q-tips in the ears.

Ok, I am breathing. I am able to dress him and put him down for a nap. Then I tackle the mess on and surrounding his changing table. A hero's battles are never done.