My cousin Emily and her sweet bebe Louie came over for a
visit the other day and we had a great time letting the little crawlers paw each
other and watching Louie try to knock George over in the friendliest manner
possible. We decided to throw the two
little boys in the bath together before they headed home so Em would have a
sweet-smelling, clean baby all ready for bed when she got home.
Louie had been making some pretty interesting faces indicating
that he was having some gastrointestinal, shall we say, issues, during
dinner. Basically he was working on his
business and seemed to get the job done.
We got the little dudes into the tub and soaped and cleaned up and were
letting them play. G started fussing and wanted to get out, to eat, and go to
bed. We barely got George out of the tub
and next thing we know Louie is letting round two rip in the tub and we were
left with this…
Em profusely apologized and all I could do was laugh. I
scooped out what I could with a cup, threw out the unfortunate wash cloth and
booger sucker that were part of the collateral damage, let the rest go down the
drain and gave the whole tub a good spray with Clorox.
It totally reminded me of when Dave was a toddler and having
some trouble with being a bit plugged up in the poop department. We tried pear juice, prune juice, peach
juice, and apricots and nothing seemed to help.
The poor guy would pace around the house yelling “my bottom hurts” until
an inevitable explosion would finally come.
Then peace would descend throughout the land.
D was having one of those days and we were getting so tired
of hearing him complain even though we know he must be uncomfortable. We told him to relax, to just think about
something else, to do anything but please for the love of Pete stop telling me
your bottom hurts!
We were over at my parents’ house with my brother’s family
and stuck Dave in the tub with a couple cousins and some bubbles. One of his older cousins was playing around
with a booger sucker and shooting Dave on the tummy with the water when my
brother who was monitoring the bath saw something solid land on Dave’s stomach. He was only perplexed momentarily and with
dread he parted the sheet of bubbles covering the water and started yelling,
“Code brown! Code brown!”
We all came running and started getting kids out of the tub
and into a different shower to be cleaned yet again. We were pretty sure who the culprit of the
pooptastic tub time was, but he wouldn’t confess when we asked him. I’m not sure if he thought he was in trouble
or if he really didn’t notice what was going on on his rear side, but he
insisted it wasn’t him.
We asked him straight out and he said again it wasn’t him
and then, after a pause, he says, “Who pooped in that tub?” and because every
adult in the room couldn’t stop laughing he just kept repeating it over and
over. Here’s this kid who took the
biggest dump ever in my Mom’s bathtub
who earlier that day was telling everyone how plugged up he was now innocently
asking, “Who pooped in that tub? Who pooped in that tub?” Oh my lord it was
funny. And he said it for weeks afterward. At least the repetition
of that phrase never got old like the other one did.
Louie is older and bigger than George so Louie kindly lets G
borrow his hand-me-downs. Because George
gets to be so darn stylish in Louie’s clothes all is forgiven about him
crapping in our tub.
Visit anytime Louie, but next time you’re wearing a swimmy
diaper in my tub.
This is such a funny story. Never read anyone writing so amusingly about baby poops :-D
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