Crap Attack

Yes, this post is about poo, so don't say I didn't warn you. No more will I leave Willem to play in his crib for a while after a nap. When I went into his room today to fetch him after a good half hour of happy noises, I was immediately hit with a wave of the foulest of smells. I suppose that I should consider myself lucky that this is the first time I've had to deal with a child intentionally playing with the contents of his diaper.

Of course Willem managed to bring his typically Willemesque aplomb to the whole affair. There were no streaks, skids, or trails. Rather, tiny bits were to be found at rest on various items, as though he had carefully placed one small blob on every surface he could find. Cheek? Check. Pacifier (still in his mouth)? Check. Shirt? Yep. Pants? Uh huh. Sheets? Quilt? Got 'em. Anyone with babies knows that poop washes out of textiles pretty easily, so that wasn't too big of a problem. The really tricky bit was his hands. It looked as though he'd applied some self-tanner and forgotten to wash his hands afterward. For those of you familiar with the movie Mallrats, I can now attest to the fact that "stinkpalm" is nigh impossible to rid oneself of once it is acquired.

I now feel I ALMOST deserve the trip to Paris I get to take this summer.