Holy Crap.

My first daughter, Earth Baby was a pretty good breastfeeding baby. We didn’t have latch problems really, though it did hurt some in the first two weeks, she gained weight well, she had an internal clock that said to eat every 2 hours the first week and then it self regulated nicely to a 3-4 hour schedule and within a few weeks she was sleeping a 6 hour stretch at night. I had it made. Thought I was all that too. My baby was perfect. In the hospital, before coming home, she transitioned from the new baby tar butt that was the result of meconium to yellowish, seedy smears in her diaper. A nurse explained how many she should produce a day and we were on our way. There were the appropriate amount of those smeared diapers every day and things were just farting along nicely. When Earth Baby was around one week old we experienced our first, um, taste, of her potential. It turned out, those smears were just the warm up. Her A game was far more impressive. And not cute.

But it was hilarious.

The Piano Man was the honored one. He was changing her on our sweet little changing table with a chux pad the hospital sent home with us down for protection. We’d been using the same chux pad since we got home and weren’t sure why they told us they were great to have around for changes. Still so new to this baby thing, I took pictures constantly and that was even back in the day of *gasp* film! Yeah, I was taking pictures of him changing her diaper. Really more because he was so cute handling this little person, I just couldn’t help taking pictures. I only wish it had been a video camera.

Having already established his method of changing her, The Piano Man talked to her sweetly as he unsnapped the bottom of her jammies and pulled them up around her waist. Grabbing a wipe, he unfastened her wet diaper and laid the wipe over her girly parts to avoid a bubbling fountain of pee since she often went once air was permitted to her nether regions. He grabbed another wipe and, still talking to her, proceeded to lift her legs to wipe her down.

It was like a pulling a lever to release a bomb. A poop bomb. He pulled those legs up and off went the missile. Not a slow release, no. A fast burst of hot, yellow, thick liquid poop squirted out. This wasn’t a smear but rather like someone had thrown a gallon of paint. It hit the wall, the edge of the changing table, The Piano Man (pretty amazing since he was to the side and not in the direct line of fire) and even a little got on the chux pad. Like, maybe a smear.

And then Earth Baby heard her first swear word. You think you’re never going to swear in front of your kids. But then, you also never think your precious infant is going to launch weapons of mass destruction from their behind in toxic hues of glowing yellow.

I laughed.

I laughed and laughed and laughed. I didn’t help clean up. I laughed, snorting and hiccuping until tears ran down my face. And I took pictures. Sadly I can’t find them but I will because this photographic evidence is priceless. Plus, Earth Baby is now 11, I’m sure she’d love to see pictures of her poop. What adolescent wouldn’t?