Cherish and I survived the Poopageddon.
I don't say this lightly.
It was ugly. It was messy. And most of all, it was stinky.
The stink penetrated my very being, down to the roots of my soul.
Experienced parents probably already have guessed what happened over the New Year's weekend.
Yes, Willow had a bout with Cha-cha (that's what Cherish and I call it; you probably call it diarrhea).
Poopageddon went according to book. "The Willow Manual" (aka "Baby 411") told us Willow had a stomach virus, commonly referred to as the stomach flu. "The Willow Manual" told us Willow would vomit on the first day then have diarrhea the next three or four days.
And that's what happened.
"The Willow Manual" DID NOT tell us we'd be doing multiple loads of laundry, disinfecting multiple surfaces and taking multiple trips to the trash bin in the garage.
After we put a second set of sheets and baby clothing in the washer, we knew our weekend plans had changed: We weren't setting foot outside this house.
But Willow was a trouper throughout.
She didn't seem to mind what was going on in her diaper (she was perturbed a time or two when the Cha-cha kept her from sleeping). Actually, I think she liked the extra attention from Mommy and Daddy (as if we don't fawn over her every waking, and sleeping, moment of the day).
By Day 3, the Poopageddon subsided. Willow played merrily in the floor with a dry bum, and Mommy and Daddy relaxed.
All in all, Poopageddon wasn't that bad. I'm sure we'll have many worse episodes, and I'm sure many parents out there are rolling their eyes at our small beans.
After all, Poopageddon didn't have Cherish and me rushing to the doctor (or really overly worried), and Willow played throughout the weekend as happily as ever.
But let me tell you folks ...
The STINK ...
THAT might be with us forever.
I don't say this lightly.
It was ugly. It was messy. And most of all, it was stinky.
The stink penetrated my very being, down to the roots of my soul.
Experienced parents probably already have guessed what happened over the New Year's weekend.
Yes, Willow had a bout with Cha-cha (that's what Cherish and I call it; you probably call it diarrhea).
Poopageddon went according to book. "The Willow Manual" (aka "Baby 411") told us Willow had a stomach virus, commonly referred to as the stomach flu. "The Willow Manual" told us Willow would vomit on the first day then have diarrhea the next three or four days.
And that's what happened.
"The Willow Manual" DID NOT tell us we'd be doing multiple loads of laundry, disinfecting multiple surfaces and taking multiple trips to the trash bin in the garage.
After we put a second set of sheets and baby clothing in the washer, we knew our weekend plans had changed: We weren't setting foot outside this house.
But Willow was a trouper throughout.
She didn't seem to mind what was going on in her diaper (she was perturbed a time or two when the Cha-cha kept her from sleeping). Actually, I think she liked the extra attention from Mommy and Daddy (as if we don't fawn over her every waking, and sleeping, moment of the day).
By Day 3, the Poopageddon subsided. Willow played merrily in the floor with a dry bum, and Mommy and Daddy relaxed.
All in all, Poopageddon wasn't that bad. I'm sure we'll have many worse episodes, and I'm sure many parents out there are rolling their eyes at our small beans.
After all, Poopageddon didn't have Cherish and me rushing to the doctor (or really overly worried), and Willow played throughout the weekend as happily as ever.
But let me tell you folks ...
The STINK ...
THAT might be with us forever.
Word of warning: Do not EVER hand a baby/toddler/small child a bunch of bananas to hold. Said child will invariably eat the fibrous part that holds the bananas together, which will proceed to keep NOTHING together as it wends through said child's digestive system. Frightening things occur.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure which is worse: Poopageddon or Vomitageddon. At least you can semi-contain poop. I've found throw up in places I'd never have guessed it could go. I'm so glad mine are old enough to aim for the toilet or warn me to pull the car over now.