In what I deem an amazing feat of physics this morning, Luke managed to get more poop on his t-shirt than in his diaper. The smear of poop on my own t-shirt alerted me to the situation. It was impossible to get him out of his clothes without getting poop all over him. That's how bad it was. Bad enough that I left him butt naked on my bed, built-in sprinkler system uncovered, to fill up the tub. Bad enough that I'll probably just chunk that onesie. Bad enough that when Dave came to kiss us goodbye, I held my hands in the air as if waiting for a pair of surgical gloves so as not to mar his bright white shirt. He told me, "You're a good mother." Umm-hmm, don't I know it. He's just glad it wasn't him that picked that kid up out of the high chair, unaware of the secret mess he'd made. Lesson learned: Leave Luke in bed to make his morning poop. At least if it's not bouncing off the seat of the high chair it has a better chance of staying in the diaper.
Luke thought the whole thing was hilarious until I took advantage of the situation and used the warm washcloth to clean out his crusty nose. He did not like that at all. Ella also thought it was funny when I told her about it. She's been calling him Luker Super Pooper for a while. Now I know why.
my girls have done that before. they had it all the way up there back in the diaper, and down their legs. it was horrible each time they did it.
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