Rub a Dub Dub

Yesterday was a rough day. Rowan was fussy, didn't want to sleep, and pooped. A lot. 5 times, in fact, in 24 hours. We spent some time at the mall, returning some Christmas things and shopping the baby sales. For some reason, she is usually good when we're shopping, so I wheeled her around Macy's and the Bon Ton as long as she stayed content, picking up several cute Carter's outfits and jammies in her size and in some bigger sizes for next winter. Halfway through the shopping excursion, she created the fifth "production", and seemed happy and relieved. I was sure this was it, she had to be cleaned out.

Today dawned, and she was in a much better mood. She took a morning and afternoon nap, played happily, and didn't even fuss when it was time to eat. (In fact, I forgot to nurse her for about 6 hours. Oops.) She did have a leak-through due to a massive pee, and got pulled out of her carpenter jeans, onesie and Como Zoo sweatshirt and put in her new yellow Carter's fleece jumpsuit with the little birdie in the cage on the chest, before taking a late-afternoon walk with Lucy.

Dr. B and I were having supper while Rowan sat with us in her Bumbo chair on the floor. She wasn't yet ready for bed, but was happy as long as she could see us. From time to time, I spooned a little of my applesauce into her mouth. (Note: she likes the Gerber version better.) Dr. B commented on how cute her outfit was, and I said, "I know, I love it. Pale yellow, and the darling little birdie! I think she can wear it to bed, with socks. It's just like a sleeper, except without feet, and she only wore it a few hours." After we finished our pork chops and potatoes and gravy, Dr. B cleared the table and I picked her up. "P.U.! I guess she wasn't cleaned out!" I said, and headed upstairs to the changing table to get her cleaned up and ready for bed.

I opened her diaper, and saw a little of what I expected. I lifted her legs to clean her up, and that's when I realized it. The real reason they recalled the Bumbo chair. It's not because of tipping, no, that's just a convenient excuse. It's because of what the chair does when a child is sitting in it while he or she takes a dump.

So much for the yellow jumpsuit.

"Honey!!!" I shouted over my shoulder. "Can you help me?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

"Just come up here. To the changing table," I said. "You'll see..." as I ran, baby dangling from my outstretched arms, toward the tub.

I set her down and turned on the water. She shrieked as the cool water touched her toes, so I lifted her and moved her a few inches away. Big mistake. Now, in front of her was poop, a textured tub bottom, and water. Baby finger painting. She leaned forward and started gleefully spreading the poo all over the floor of the shower.

"Aaaaagggghhhh!!!" I yelled, grabbing her wrists with one hand and trying to wipe some of the mousse au chocolat from her back while keeping her from sticking her fingers in her mouth. Just then Dr. B caught sight of the changing table. "Aaaaagggghhhh!!!" he shouted, "what happened?"

I rinsed 90% of the poo off her back, but looking at the murky water, I knew it was futile. I picked her up, thanking God she was still small enough, and sat her in the sink. I snagged the baby wash and gave her a quick bath, dodging her poopy hands while heading her off as she grabbed for the candle, matches, washcloth, towel, soap dish and soap. Trusting that she was mostly clean, I laid her out on her towel and carried her, hammock-style, into the bedroom.

"Wow," said Dr. B as he scrubbed away at the changing pad. "There was so much poop, it was in the little dots of the design. I got the grapefruit cleaner. And I'm starting a load of laundry."

I grabbed another wipe to get the last vestiges off her (a little stain on the towel proved the sink bath wasn't foolproof), diapered her and dressed her in another fresh outfit, and handed her off to him as I headed back into the bathroom, armed.

Those bubbles had some serious scrubbing to do.