Apoopalypse now!

This picture was actually taken in Idaho at Grandpa and Grandma Watts's house last month, but the horror story I'm about to lay before you happened today. Gavin hadn't had a BM in a few days. That usually means trouble when the crude oil does start flowing. The stage was thus set.

We were all in the living room playing and reading books on a Sunday afternoon. We had Gavin in an almost-too-tight bumbo seat (not sure why, since he sits on his own just fine). Gav was getting a bit fussy, so I extracted him from his seat and started to get him ready for a nap. I smelled something a bit funky, so I lifted Gavin up, pressed my forehead into his back and took a good wiff of the diaper region. Didn't smell good, but it smelled a little off. So I got a second opinion and had Amy smell him. She pressed her face into him and took inventory. Then she held him out in front of her and gasped in horror. The green shirt she (and I) had just pressed our faces into was, in better times and up until very recently, a blue shirt. Turns our that blue + mustard yellow = green. It was green because Gavin had dropped his overdue payload. And since the Bumbo seat was so snug around him, the poo had shot straight up and covered his shirt all the way to his neck.

So, long story short, Amy and I had much more than egg on our face. After sticking my head under the kitchen faucet, we headed upstairs to peel Gavi out of his dripping, mustard yellow body wrap and give him a bath. Sahara wanted in on the action. She kept insisting, "I wanna get naked! I wanna get naked and take a bath too!" And so she did.

Moral of the story: Touching and smelling are different activities and should not be combined when checking for a poopy diaper. If you must touch, take note of the color of your baby's clothing and make sure that it hasn't changed.