It happened about ten months ago. I remember it very clearly. My older sister was at work and my mom was out running errands. I volunteered to baby-sit my two and a half year old nephew, Riley, for the time being. He had been going through a Lion King phase so we watched the movie one full time and we were on our second viewing when things started to get interesting. Riley was sitting on my lap, nestled around my arms. I remember watching Simba try to out run to a stampede when I felt a warm liquid on my hands. I thought it must be sweat because it was summer and there’s nothing else it could possibly be, right?
Wrong.
I took a closer look at what had made my hand so damp and as I pulled my palm closer to my face I began to smell what it was. It unfortunately was not sweat. Both of my hands were covered in baby poop and I had no idea what to do. So I did what any inexperienced guy with a baby who just pooped everywhere would do.
I cussed. Not at Riley, just said bad words out loud because I didn’t know what else to say or do.
I decided that I had to take this mess out of the living room, away from leather couches and an innocent dog nose. As I carried Riley into my sister’s bedroom where the changing table is, I was exposed to the malodorous bag of baby waste around my nephew. I could literally see the steam seeping out of the diaper.
Now, I had never changed a baby’s diaper before so performing that act was going to be an adventure in itself. Riley is a great kid and I think he knew that I was having trouble with the whole situation, so instead of playing it cool and trying to help me, he was kicking and screaming and crying because he wanted to watch “Simba!”
I’m strong though and I don’t give into tears, even if they are coming from a child who can’t put a two-word sentence together. I laid Riley down on the changing table and prepared myself for one of the biggest challenges in any adult’s life.
I was going to change that dirty diaper.
I don’t want you to think that this was your normal diaper with baby poop in it. I’m talking Taco Bell bean burrito worthy coming out the sides of this kids onesie. I thought back to cartoons where the characters put a cloths pin over their nose when they smell something bad and that’s exactly what I felt like doing. This bomb that was dropped was nuclear.
As the clueless uncle that I am, I start to examine this onesie and contemplate a plan to disarm this stink bomb without getting anymore baby poop on me. I carefully tried to undress Riley by detaching on of the bottom snaps of the onesie.
Well, apparently I am not cut out for the bomb squad because that thing literally detonated in my face. As I yanked one of the snaps off, little pieces of baby poop flew towards my face. I remember it happening in slow motion. I tried to dodge the particles of feces Matrix style but my efforts unfortunately fell short as a flying piece of turd landed on my upper lip.
Like I said earlier, this was no ordinary turd. My sister must have been feeding this kid nothing but hot pockets and raisins. I was no longer cussing for fear that if I opened my mouth, the poop would go into ninja mode and at first chance, attack my taste buds. I could feel the warmth of the liquidy discharge inching closer and closer to my closed mouth.
I suddenly felt my stomach race to my throat and I began to dry heave for what seemed to be a lifetime. With my arms straight out, I carried Riley into the bathroom so I could disinfect my face and wait for my mom to get home and take care of the now TWO infants in the house.
As I pathetically and dramatically tried to handle the situation, Riley had the nerve to continue to scream for Simba. It took all of me to not wipe some of his poop on his face and see how he liked it. However, that would mean getting poop on my fingers and that just isn’t going to fly.
I am upset and a little embarrassed that I couldn’t change my nephews diaper and I’m a disappointed in myself for not being able to help him out when he needed me. I guess it isn’t completely his fault that his poop damaged all feeling I had in my upper lip. But I can say, that I would never say ‘no’ to babysitting that little guy even if it meant taking a bullet of poop to the face.
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