Thursday, November 08, 2007


We had a spectacular baby poop accident this morning. This may be something that only a new mother can find hilarious and endearing instead of simply disgusting. You've been warned. Although I told the whole story to my mother-in-law on the telephone this morning and she could hardly stop laughing, but then again, she's as in love with le Petit as my husband and I are. Le Petit needn't do more than drool and smile at the same time and the three of us are all cheering.

This morning le Petit woke up at nine o'clock with a series of short cries. My baby sleep intuition told me to leave him be so he could either wake up fully or fall back asleep, since I've discovered that if I don't let him wake up by himself he'll often spend the entire morning in a bad mood. My mommy guilt reflex made me pick him up after a minute of fussing. I realized I'd made a mistake when he didn't even open his eyes in my arms.

I nursed him half-asleep, then got up to change him. He gave me a huge smile on the changing table. Not a very wet diaper this morning, I thought to myself, as I lifted his bottom half up by his feet. Then suddenly, just as he was perfectly aimed to do the most damage, there it was: a stream of very liquid orange baby poop. All over me, my pyjamas, the cute-but-useless terry cloth changing pad cover, a couple of towels, and the white area rug.

"Help!" I yelled to my husband in the other room, who luckily hadn't yet left for work. He rushed in to hold le Petit on the changing table, legs in the air, while I ran off to the bathroom to wash my hands.

I could hear my husband swearing in French.

"Mais merde, get something! I have to leave for work..."


"I don't know, whatever. Paper towers. Quick, quick!"

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the roll of paper towels.

"Oh no, c'est pas vrai... he just peed all over himself! On his face!" I ran back into the bedroom and found my husband trying to pull a soaked onesie over le Petit's head. "I have a conference call in five minutes!" And I think, what would I do if he didn't work five minutes away?

Le Petit, finding himself dumped unceremoniously into his crib in nothing but a hastily placed diaper by two screaming parents, started to howl. "Oh, little guy," I told him in my best cheerful mommy voice, "It isn't your fault! We were just surprised, and we're trying to get everything cleaned up." He stopped crying and looked up at me, relieved. I found him some new clothes, and my husband quickly dressed him. Five minutes later my husband was out the door, and I picked up le Petit for some reassuring cuddles before heading off to start a load of laundry.

The washing machine has more than paid for itself in the last four months, and I wonder once again what I'd do if we didn't have a clothes dryer.

Home from work this evening, my husband admitted that while sitting at his desk this morning he discovered a merde stain on his forearm. "Luckily no one was there to see it. That's the beauty of conference calls..."

And the beauty of parenthood, indeed.

No comments: