Monday, August 18, 2014


Let's start this post off with an adorable picture of Seoul. Along with a warning: if you don't want to read about babies or poop, check out one of my other posts. If you can handle it, proceed.

I love the sweet moments I get to enjoy with Seoul when I'm breastfeeding her. Today, after a feeding, Seoul had drifted off to sleep on top of our bed. She looked so peaceful and angelic and Jeremy and I were marveling over what a darling little baby she was.

Suddenly, she awoke and cried, and I realized I'd better burp her. She's a spit-up baby though and my shirt took a direct hit.My husband held her as I changed my shirt and then I took her back. We sat on the bed, her in my lap making cute little baby faces at me. We were laughing at her and enjoying her cuteness. And I started talking about some friends from church who had just come back from a summer in the states. They  have 3 girls together; the youngest is 6 or 7 months now. We hadn't seen them in a while so the baby was so much bigger when we saw them the other day. I was telling Jeremy just how gorgeous that baby was. She has such a big, happy smile and as I was describing Baby Jubilee for him, our very own Baby Seoul decided she wasn't going to let another cute baby steal the spotlight.


I stop mid-sentence and stare down. I cannot even believe it. I've been holding Seoul upright in my lap so she won't spit up some more and this is the thanks I get. It comes out the other end. In an explosive way. Even more explosive than the first pooping incident. She has effectively shat out one of the leg holes and right onto my shorts. AND my leg. God, there is SO much on my leg! AND onto her blanket. AND even beyond the perimeter of her entire blanket, right onto our bedding. AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I scream in terror as I look down at the mess that is now covering me and the surrounding areas. No, Seoul! No! Bad baby! You're only supposed to poop on Daddy, Grandma or Grandpa. Or even Uncle Phillip. But never on Papa, Mimi or Aunt Kimmy. And especially never on Mommy!

My husband, who has witnessed this whole gruesome scene, is torn between laughing hysterically and helping me. I'm afraid to move for fear of spreading the poop even further. It's up to him to hand me wet wipes until I've mopped up enough to free myself from the disaster area. Once I've done that, I now must act quickly to save us all. I hose off quickly in the shower and prepare a bath for that little cute-but-evil-pooper. I also throw the pooped on items into the laundry, along with some other items that are ready for the washing machine (because now I am ALWAYS on laundry duty). And somehow, I manage to get this vile mess remedied.

Jeremy is still laughing. Hell, if it happened to him, I wouldn't have stopped laughing either. He then brings up an excellent's my fault if I last changed the diaper. I didn't close it up good enough. And then I realize...this is all my husband's fault! The last diaper change she'd had before this incident, I was in the bathroom and heard Jeremy talking about her making a poop and talking to her as he changed her. So he is the incompetent diaper-changer. Not me. He also has the stupidest habit, which I've seen his parents also do so I can only assume he picked this up from them (or other idiotic Chinese people), of pulling out the side of the leg hole to see if there's a poop. These diapers actually have a yellow stripe on the outside and when it's soiled, that stripe turns blue. And is it THAT much more work to open up the tabs real quick and take a peek? Ugh! Here's hoping the next poop-tastrophe happens to him or my in-laws.

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