Skip to main content

The Poopageddon

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.

Comments

  1. 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.

    I'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.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Adding a splash to the winter gray

Willow, Mommy and I went to the Y's pool on Sunday to take advantage of our membership and to do something summery in this dreary and cold weather. We had so much fun swimming and splashing, Willow and I went back on Tuesday. On Sunday, surprisingly, nobody else was at the pool, and the lifeguard seemed resigned to having to sit boringly in her stand. I have no problem with having an entire pool and a lifeguard all to myself, but, again, I was surprised nobody else was there, except for a few exercisers coming and going to use the steam room and the sauna (and a couple of guys hopped in the whirlpool for a few minutes). When Willow and I went on Tuesday, several people were in the pool, but they quickly scattered when the tot and I entered the pool. Maybe their time in the pool had come to a planned end. Maybe they didn't want to be in the water with someone who might pee or poop at any moment. After the initial scattering a couple of men came into the pool area and swam qui...

Among chaos, peace

I want to show you two pictures, but a little later. First I want to introduce you to chaos (or at least what I consider to be chaos) via a handy, dandy list: I am sitting at a laptop, pounding out a blog's letters as quickly as I can think of them. The laptop is only three months old, yet some of the keys stick sometimes. These sticky keys are the ghostly reminders that a toddler's sticky fingers have been pounding on them. Four loads of laundry lie in various states of "unfinish." One load is wet. One load is wrinkling. Two loads await their spins. A fifth load already has been tucked away in drawers, cabinets and closets (then untucked by a toddler then tucked again by me). Cups, plates and bowls hang for dear life to a hastily stacked pile of dirty dishes in the sink while a clean set of dishes sits in the dishwasher. A pile of pictures and postcards blanket the floor beside the desk in the guest room. This was the work of the sticky fingers that pounded on...

Willow's sliding frenzy

Last week, Willow took a huge step in her quest to become a big girl (she's abiding by her plans, not Mommy's and Daddy's, who want her to stay a baby forever). Willow and I went to the playground for a morning of play and a picnic. Willow's idea of "a morning of play" is usually spending A LOT of time on the swing. Up to last week, if she wanted out of the swing, it was to walk over to another, better swing. Then back again. Last week, things changed. I put Willow at the top of a tot slide and started cheering her to let loose. I readied to keep her from tumbling off the bottom of the slide. She let loose, scooted down the slide and stopped just short of the edge. She shimmied off, smiling and took off after the steps to go back up. She clamored to the top of the slide (this set of slides had one "top" with the option of going down three slides: a straight one, a curvy one and a tunnel one). Willow reached the top, sat down, scooted her bottom t...