I felt like I was in a movie tonight.
Jon and I ordered pizza and salad and headed to Jon’s brother’s house to have dinner and drinks with him and Jen, his longtime girlfriend.
All in all, a pretty uneventful night. I drank some red wine, the rest drank beer, Elle had bottles. We were all pretty content.
Prior to heading to Rick & Jen’s, I had stopped at my Mom’s for a brief minute for some advice on handling a situation. While there, I changed Elle’s diaper and noticed evidence of a (for lack of a better term) ‘shart’ in her diaper. For those not in the know, this is a fart that has a little bit of poop that comes along with it…take the profanity term for poop, cross that with fart, and you’ve got ‘shart’.
Normally, Elle poops in blow out fashion every third day or so. And it’s always a fussiness production when it happens.
So why I didn’t see it coming when the shart presented itself, I’m just not sure.
Anyway, we were at Rick and Jen’s and Elle was being, well, a seven-week old baby girl. She was happy at times and fussy at times, but nothing extraordinary.
That is, until Jon handed her to me after sniffing at her bottom and saying “I think it’s more than a toot”.
So, I lay her on the blanket in the middle of the floor. I take off her pants. I undo the tabs on the Pampers diaper featuring Cookie Monster. And the explosion overwhelms me and I immediately press the diaper back closed.
Turns out, I wasn’t quick enough. It got on her inner thigh and on her belly. Great, now I’ll have to use more wipes.
I go to brush my hair back behind my ear and drag my hand across my shoulder – inadvertently.
And my finger drags a little slower than it ought to.
“NOOOOO!” I shriek.
I feel like I’m Katherine Heigl in that movie “Life as We Know It” when she walks down the stairs with poop on her face, only in this episode, I KNOW there is baby poop on my hand and, now, potentially in my hair.
Relief, my hair is safe.
What is perhaps worse…my purple cashmere sweater, the only cashmere that I own, that I happened to have worn tonight because it seemed like a warm thing to do…my purple cashmere sweater is now sporting a large poop streak across the left shoulder.
And the baby is crying and laughing, interchangably. Jon is sitting and watching over my shoulder, and Rick is commentating on how he’s really ok with the fact that he’s never changed a diaper.
It takes all my strength to NOT cry a little bit, but at least my blog post title began to form in my head, I suppose.
Elle is wonderful, she’s seven weeks old today. She laughs and coos and talks and even says her name in the most sing-songey way ever. When she’s happy, both fists ball up and end up tucked under her chin. Her neck is so, so strong and she loves to see what’s going on. She’s a cuddler, and would much rather sleep next to Mom and Dad than sleep all alone. She hates having a wet diaper. She loves things that twirl above her head, shadow and light, and being bounced around the house. And she love, love, loves her bouncy chair. Sometimes, I get so overwhelmed with the fact that she’s MINE that I feel my eyes overflowing. I’m so excited and optimistic about all the things that will come her way in life. I’m so glad to be parenting through this crazy whirlwind with Jon, and I’m so glad that of all the girls in the whole universe, we got her.
But tonight, my Google search field contains “removing feces stains from cashmere” so I’d say my life is a little less luxurious than it used to be.
Though, I suppose, I’m living my less-luxurious life in cashmere…even if it is covered in baby poo.