Shit Storm IV: The Surprise

I didn’t expect to be writing about this topic any time soon, but that’s the thing about shit… it can surprise you.

At age 2 we’re hopefully in the back ½ of my son’s diaper years and the beginning of his vocabulary. As a result he has now become some sort of strange excrement alarm clock that grabs its crotch and says “Puupie” when he craps himself.

I will acknowledge this is not a fool-proof system. Things fall through the cracks, if you will. However, something happened this evening which I believe was a Barnum & Bailey sanctioned three-ring circus of body functions.

We’d been playing for a while, laughter, a thud, some crying, then more laughter. Guy fun that results in possible injury, (thus… crying) but is generally the kind of stuff only boys are going to think is a good idea, (thus… laughing). All was well. In fact, there wasn’t even an offending stench to warn of what lay ahead.

Suddenly, my son starts doing a mean Elvis impression. He’s wriggling one leg like he’s got palsy and says “Puupie” right before he lifts his foot and… thump. There on the rug was a little brown log. Compared to his size it was a tree. How that escaped the diaper and Elvised down his pant-leg is unknown, but my son had now shit the carpet while standing up.

I struggled for words for a second. Then promptly handed him off for cleanup while I went for towels to deal with the log. I returned to find the log was gone.

The dog had eaten the problem. I know this because she was standing over the spot and licking her chops. I balked and she looked at me like “What? He dropped it, I ate it, like always.”

Good news: there is no more shit on the rug. Bad news: the dog will want to kiss you later.

Upstairs, the blowout was so immense and its magical journey to the floor so smearing that the only choice was a bath. The water was running and my son was standing on the bathmat awaiting the proper water temperature.

Obviously, this was the perfect moment to pee. He was staring at his penis and concentrating on the task at hand like a senior citizen with a prostate problem. I even heard the faintest grunt as he drenched the bathmat and his socks. The dog was not around to solve this problem.

A lot happened in the next half hour. We ran a bath and the washer. I felt the need to change my clothes. I didn’t get anything on me, but I somehow couldn’t stand to continue in the attire that had seen this episode. The dog curled up on the couch and took a nap. I think we’re better now.

Thank God for soap and water. Too bad I can’t wash out the dog’s mouth.