The events described below happened on August 12, 2009 (when Mr. 10Kv was almost one year old), and were actually the reason I wanted to start a blog about my life. Not because I have some bizarre need to talk about poop on the internet, but because I laughed all the way to work, and loved "my guys" even more for the wild adventure we experienced together.
At the time, at work, I was behind by four hours in the pay period, which was going to end that Friday, because the previous Friday I had taken Mister 10,000 Volts (Mr. 10Kv) out of daycare and to the doctor because (as it turns out) he had an ear infection, and hand, foot, and mouth virus. Good times.
I could have used some PTO to cover the doctor's visit, but I just didn't want to do that for hand, foot, and mouth virus. So instead I had worked through lunches and made up two of the four hours and had two more to go, and that morning at 6:45, I was really pumped because I live 10 minutes from work, and figured I was almost ready and could get to work by 7:00 and knock out another hour.
Pierre-Francois (PF) came into the bedroom with Mr. 10Kv, and sat down on the bed, and started thumbing through a bedding catalogue while I finished doing my hair. All of the sudden I heard him scream, "OH MY GOD! HONEY!"
Of course I thought Mr. 10Kv had fallen out of the window, or swallowed one of my earrings, or was spewing blood, or something else drastic. So I rushed into the bedroom only to see my poor husband staring (jaw dropped) at poop smeared on the carpet like a throw rug, and my child, "cruising" down PF's side of the bed, laughing and chirping like he did when he was 11 months old, but with poop all over his little hands (down to his wrists), and down the back of his chubby little right thigh, and all over both feet.
Since his hands were on the bed, and his feet were on the carpet, there were poopy hand prints all across the comforter, and the bottom sheet where PF had not yet made his side of the bed. And there were poopy footprints on the carpet to match those on the bed.
So I grabbed Mr. 10Kv and rushed him to the changing table And as I was trying to get the poop off of his little hands (because I'd clean one with a wipe, and then he'd clap his hands, since that was his new trick), he was wriggling all over the changing table and kicked me in the belly/chest, and got poop all down the front of my blouse. Which was the last clean one in the closet, of course.
I finally got him cleaned up enough with wipes that I could take him into the bathroom to wash him with soap and water. Then I tackled the carpet while PF showered. I stripped the bed, started a load of laundry, changed my blouse, and flew out the door.
And I got to work at 8:15.
PF decided we could buy a new comforter from the bedding catalogue that night when we got home. We had only to choose the color. And because irony can't ever be ironic enough at my house, they indeed had a rather poop-colored comforter. What luck.