Boom Goes The Dynamite - Day 57

WARNING: Reader discretion is advised. Due to the graphic nature of this post, no visuals will be displayed. Proceed with caution.

Grayson my boy,

The situation I walked into this afternoon was borderline indescribable, but I shall do my best. It's about 12 noon. The Bowman brothers and I had just gotten back from climbing Stone Mountain. The 3 of us come into the living room as you start crying. I've been dadding for several weeks now, so I know the cry. You're hungry! I head upstairs after handing over the keys to Netflix to Caiden. I approach the top stair and WHAM!!!! My nose is assaulted. I think to myself, “Goodness gracious, Brittany must have left the diaper genie open.” I step into your room and to my surprise, the genie is closed. Even stranger, I open it and it is empty. With a smell that pungent, I just knew the source was still near.The light in the bathroom is on, but you and your mother aren't in there either. But on the sink, I find my first clue to the disaster that had just ensued.

There’s an olive green substance on the bathroom counter. I look and the substance is also on the shower curtain. It's on the toilet. It's on my bath towel. It seems my toothbrush was spared, but the scene certainly called for it to be trashed and replaced. I make my move to leave and see the mystery substance on the bathroom door knob. I leave the bathroom appalled, but the situation only got worse. In your crib, there's a 6x4” olive green wet spot. There is a smear across the top of the chair. Your changing pad is covered in what I now realize is…..baby deuce. My eyes get as big as, well, no offense, your eyes.

Side note: you have toddler sized eyes in that infant head of yours. You’ll grow into them though, I think. We’ll see. Back to the main event.

Son, your excrement is literally on 12-15 different objects between the bathroom and the nursery. It is as if there was a poo bomb that exploded from the middle of the room, covering everything in the surrounding area. You can imagine at this point I am completely dumbfounded. How could such a feat even be possible? And how much will a hazmat team charge us to come out and decontaminate this sector of our home? My mind leaves the room and returns to the thought of where you and your mother are. You are no longer crying, so I’m hoping the milk is ‘aflowing nearby. But I wonder, are you guys okay? Was your mother hit when the poo bomb went off?

I hear some movement from the my and your mother’s room. I slowly creep down the hall, not knowing what to expect. My nose is relieved to discover the smell is concentrated behind me, every step more Glade plug-in than #2. Your mother is switching you to life support unit #2 as I walk through the doorway. Yes, I am referencing her boobs. “Do I even want to know what happened in the other room?”, I asked as she looked up at me. “Oh Marc, what a day.” She is still undefeated, but this battle (compounded by your aggressive suckling) have taken their toll. I grab her water mug and head downstairs for a refill. “Is Grayson okay?” I had forgotten the Bowman boys were even here honestly. I tell them your fine, to not turn on anything crazy, and that I will be back down in a little bit before returning upstairs to your mother. She thanks me for the water, and I ask for the gory details.

Your mother tells me you were sleep in your crib, while she was in the hallway doing laundry. At this point in your life, you are quite the gassy little fellow. You apparently had been “passing gas” for several minutes before you started crying. She finished putting the clothes in the dryer and walked in to check on you. Like my nose as I would reach the top of the steps short of an hour later, your mother entered the room and her nose knew something was terribly wrong. Maybe your dog has left a hot gift of steamy jealousy in your room? But Bentley nor any droppings were anywhere to be found. She tells me she lifted you up and immediately put you right back down. She needed to get ready for war “Because this is going to be a situation.”

The velocity with which the poo must have shot out of your butt must have been disgustingly impressive because it shot from the bottom of your diaper, up your back to the nape of your neck. What a scene it must’ve been! You were literally covered in booboo. She tells me she considered cutting your onesie off of you like a trauma victim before eventually deciding to just start wiping your clothed body down, removing as much poo as possible. A quarter pack of wipes later and your onesie (though absolutely trash) is clean enough to be pulled over your head without fear of anything contacting your face. Unfortunately, your hair was not spared. After onesie removal, your were placed on the changing station and strapped down. After another large quantity of wipes, you were finally clean enough for a proper bath.

I can now trace mommy’s movements around the room like Scooby and the Mystery Team. Call me Sherlock Daddio. Poo “crumbs” detail a smear campaign even the dirtiest of politicians and lobbyist can’t match. Olivia Pope couldn’t clean this up. Mr. Toilet Man wouldn’t have wanted smoke with this situation, and he’s a tushy biting monster. Though I assure you, no Mr. Hankeys were harmed in the writing of this letter. Glossary of pop culture references have been published below. You’ll definitely need it by the time you’re reading this.

I imagine you smiling during this entire transaction, knowing you have conquered the day. But your mother is a champion. Know that! Had I been left alone in this situation, someone would have gotten a open-box bargain on a beautiful baby boy because I likely would have returned you as defective. I beg of you that my head to toe poo experience remain at zero until your arms are long enough to do to the clean-up yourself. May this occurrence and head to toe poos around the world inspire a baby washing apparatus of some sort that will save future parents from the experience. That being said, we still love you and always will. May your poo fortunes when you have babies of your own be far less memorable.

With love,

Daddah