Get ready for a week-long dedication to baby blow out stories here on He Shat, She Shat! As parents, we recognize how much fecal matter becomes a part of your life. We will share with you our stories and hope you will share yours in the comments section:
It was a lovely trip to the zoo with my 9 month old. I love this age because they are old enough to really get the excitement of things and are no longer floppy and boring. Given this recent musculature development in my child I was able to do things I could never do before like carry him in one arm while he was upright, extend him over the younger elementary school children so he could see the Polar Bears, and of course, to ride him on my shoulders.
The ironic thing is that when it happened I was actually ducking for cover as a flock of geese had let loose a bombardment of excrement my way. As it was a warm summers day and my propensity to sweat were both in full force I didn’t think anything of it for a few moments. You would have thought that the smell would have triggered my brain but as many of you may know breastfed babies poo really does not smell at all.
It wasn’t until I felt it running down my collarbone and belly that I realized something was wrong. The blowout was occuring upon my neck and, being a concerned father, I had baby squished right against me as to prevent any possible falling. The waterfall of yellow seed blowout diarrhea poo was upon me, covering my entire torso and neck.
Aside from the misery of the lengthy trip home, wiping myself off with diaper wipes in a public place, and the knowledge that I was a terrible replacement for a diaper at least I can take solace in the fact that I wasn’t the only thing that was shat upon that trip. Wifey got a hairful of goose!
Most of the time I am all about equality. I am happy to proclaim equal opportunity rights for all races, sexes, religions, etc. I got nothing against people who are different from me and I would prefer to be treated with respect and given the same chances as anyone else. But there are some situations where I am the victim of inequality – and in one case I am more than happy to keep my mouth freakin shut.
I started to notice this inequality once I had a baby. Picture this scenario: you are out at the mall shopping with your wife and 6-month-old son. Everything is going swimmingly. That shirt you wanted was 50% off with an additional 5% coupon! It is in that moment you sense wetness on your arm and realize your son has had a blowout. A brownout. A literal explosion of poohs ejaculated itself from his diaper onto your arm.
Your heart sinks. It is your turn to change him. Fate is against you…or is it? As you find the public bathroom, you realize there is no baby changing facility in the men’s bathroom, only the woman’s. You are the victim of inequality, and you have never been more grateful in your life. It seems that women are speaking out because I am noticing more and more installed in men’s bathrooms. But until the freedom bells of equality ring nationwide, I am going to relish in one less diaper I have to change.
One of my first memories as a child is an experience I had while watching my father urinate. Undoubtably, my parents were probably excited about the prospects of me no longer pissing myself in diapers and graduating to underroos. Who wouldn’t? The dollar savings and freedom from the hassle of changing several diapers a day is something to salivate over. I imagine that in order to encourage my interest in being a big boy, they allowed me to observe using the potty up close.
As I watched the stream of urine fly from body to porcelain, I was overcome with the childish desire (I was a child, so this makes sense) to put my hand in the stream. I am sure that I eyed it carefully, recognizing that this wasn’t merely water. Should I? Could I? Would I? I DID! Into the stream shot my hand, urine splashing everywhere on my body and my dad’s legs. He screamed, I retracted my hand, and that was probably the end to my urination observation.
But now I am having potty training deja vu. My child is extremely interested in going to the potty, but hesitant to try himself. Each time one of us goes to the bathroom, he comes running in and says “I see it?”. Well, just like my parents we would love to potty train this kid, reasons already stated. But as I was standing there urinating last night, I looked down and saw that glimmer in his eyes, that look of “Should I?”. I nearly pinched off the stream…but put my trust in him long enough to finish. He happily flushed the toilet for me and we both left unscathed.
For now. It’s only a matter of time before history repeats itself all over his hands and my legs…