This is a Story About Poo

Let me be clear: This is a story about poo. It’s perfectly fine if you have no interest in poo-related stories. As a mommy, a solid third of my day (no pun intended) revolves around poo, so it’s hard for me not to have a few of these up my, ahem, sleeve.

So sometime around last Wednesday (ish), I stuck Dane in the jumpy seat (you know, the one that hangs from the doorway and spins around and in general presents a strangling, head-banging, life-threatening danger to my child, who loves it) and hopped in the shower (from which the jumpy seat is no more than four feet, less than fifteen seconds, away. Nothing to see here, baby cops. Keep walking.). So I shower and get all happy and relaxed as showers go, and then step out of the shower to find what appears to be goose poo on the floor under my baby, who is happily bouncing along without the slightest inclination of anything being amiss.

I can not lie: my first (slightly edited) thought was why is there goose poo on our floor? And then I realized it was, indeed, not goose poo, you silly first-time mommy, you. So I rush over, still in my towel, dripping water everywhere, and (as carefully as possible) extract Dane from the jumpy seat, and here’s where the story takes a turn in an amazing, I saw Jesus’ face in a carton of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter direction. In a completely unforeseen turn of events, Dane had managed to have a boomie that COMPLETELY BYPASSED his diaper. The diaper was not broken, leaking or incorrectly applied to my baby. No, somehow in the excitement and magic of leaping two inches off the ground, Dane had a boomie that leapt out the side of his diaper, fell through the very short pants section of his romper (just barely staining the fabric) and landed gently on our carpet. And the worst part is, all I could think of at that moment was when telling this story, how hard it would be not to end it with I sh*t you not. I’m trying, trying…

Nope, can’t do it. Seriously, friends. I shit you not. šŸ™‚ Magic.

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