At the tender age of 18 months my son Topher introduced me to a new medium for finger painting. Every morning I would feed Topher breakfast and wait until he went #2 to put him in the tub. On this very morning there was an exceptional evacuation of his bowels. I ran a shallow, warm bath and put my little man in for a soak. I was gone for 7 minutes. 7 minutes to fill my cup with coffee and feed the dog. Upon my return I found the entire bathroom and my son covered in poop. Gasp! Bad idea. The bathroom was very small and I was 6 months pregnant. Vomit! Thankfully the porcelain thrown was the only thing in the room not painted with fecal matter.
What could I do?! He was quite proud of his masterpiece. His use of the color brown was genius. Perhaps the next Dali! Instead of yelling or freaking out I grabbed my camera. He gave me a cheesy grin and we captured the glorious Kodak moment.
As if the discovery of an excrement explosion wasn't bad enough, there was the clean up. First and foremost was Topher himself. I carried him to the upstairs bathroom and put him in the tub. Of course there was no more hot water! Screaming and jumping out of the tub ensued. Finally in order to get him thoroughly cleansed I had to get into the bone chilling cold shower with him. As I held Topher in the glacial water he cried and smeared the chunky remnants from between his pudgy fingers across my face and in my hair. *Sigh* Clean and cozy in his monkey hooded towel Topher settled down on the couch for some juice and his favorite show "Max and Ruby." I, however, unknowingly still covered in smears of poo, went downstairs to tackle the other more puke inducing mess.
By the time my husband returned home from work the only sign of the trauma I'd endured was a brown line across my cheek.
