The Silent Blow-Out

Warning: If you don't like poopy diaper stories, you probably ought to skip over this post. But I'll tell you that you'll be missing out on a really funny story - if I'm able to put it into appropriate words, that is. Here we go...

Macie poops, on average, 5 times a day. So nearly every feeding. And let's just say that, historically between her and Ivie, the poops have a tendency to want to run out the sides and back of the diaper (known, in the Herman household and probably many others, as a "blow-out"). And they're usually LOUD, too, resulting in many laughs from both Dale and Ivie.

Anyway, to avoid having to do several loads of laundry each day, I've taken appropriate measures at feeding time to protect clothes. Macie's pants come off, and her shirt is pushed up under her neck, clearing the back area in case of blow-out. In addition, when I'm nursing her (which is when she generally poops), I put a waterproof lap pad on my lap to protect my pants. Fail-safe, right?

Ummmm, no, as evidenced by the 2:45p feeding today...

So we're rolling along, Macie is eating happily, and I'm watching the clock (as I have to give her a break every 5 minutes or so to avoid a throw-up session). After 7 minutes, I sit her up to burp her. As is typical, the sitting-on-the-lap position brings about only a very wimpy burp, not good enough, so I prepare to stand up to burp her over my shoulder. This is quite a process, given the lap pad that is positioned on my lap and the burp rag that has to go over the shoulder in anticipation of the spit-up that will come with the burp. After placing the burp rag, I pull the lap pad out from under Macie's bottom. This is a safe move, I think, since it has been a very quiet nursing session so far (i.e., no loud poops in danger of squirting out on my pants!). As I place the lap pad on the arm rest of the glider, I see, out of the corner of my eye, a patch of something very greenish-yellow on the pad. OH NO! How could it be?!?

But it is. My worst nightmare, The Silent Blow-Out, has come to be. I quickly sit Macie back on the pad and survey the damage. And boy, is it bad! In the few seconds that I had let down my guard, the poop had traveled onto my jeans. And it had soaked the entire back of Macie's shirt. And it was still squirting out the back of the diaper.

So, what's a girl to do when there's poop everywhere, and the changing table and pad are CLOTH? Some might put the baby on the cloth and worry about the resulting damage later. But not me. I'm again thinking about the loads of laundry, and wanting to avoid poop stains on fabric as much as possible. So I sit there for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do. At that exact moment, the phone rings. Pretty sure I'm not getting to THAT one! I finally make the decision to cart Macie downstairs to the Pack-n-Play changing table, which, as you may know, is PLASTIC. But of course I can't carry her normally, because there's poop everywhere, so I put my hands under her underarms and head down the stairs. She's not happy about this position, so she starts screaming. And doesn't stop.

So I somehow get her shirt off without getting poop all over her (thank goodness for snaps at the neck!), and I lay her down on the changing table and set to work on changing the diaper. And I'm very disappointed to see that the diaper isn't even CLOSE to full of poop. It had just found it's way to the back of the diaper. Pampers, letting me down! I finally get most of the poop wiped off of Macie's bottom, but I have to lift her legs high in the air to get it off the small of her back. As I did this, you guessed it, Mac decided she had to go potty. I can only be thankful that she's a girl and that the potty didn't spray into my face. But, instead, since her legs are in the air, it flows onto her belly, down to the table, and then up her back. GREAT!

So it's back to the wipes container. This has got to be a record!

Without further incident, Macie is finally clean, and we head back upstairs so she can finish nursing. She's screaming again, because I left her on the changing table (don't worry, it's curved enough that it's safe) so that I could wash the poop out of her shirt and wash my hands, and when I came back and picked her up, my hands were freezing cold. And she, remember, is naked. Sorry, sweetheart!

So that's the story of the silent blow-out. Never let down your guard when it comes to poop. Trust me on this one.

By the way. The phone call? It was Dale, who is traveling today with his boss. He must have been having vibes about what was going on at home and wanted to check in to see if I was surviving!