No sh&^

Are you familiar with the expression, “You can’t make s%^& like this up?”

Warning:  this story is not for the faint of heart.

Sadie is having a diaper rash issue. Per doctors instructions we are letting her air out a bit.  This means ‘going commando’.  At 2 and aware of the potty process it’s not such a big deal.  Phil and I follow her around like stalkers but other then that no big deal, right.   Last night was such a night.

Skip to tonight.  We are heading out for a family walk.  I change into my shorts. The same shorts I had on last night.  As I walk away I hear Kinsley snicker and say, “Might want to change those pants, mom”.  I am a bit annoyed and tell her that YES I wore them last night but it’s only a walk and they are certainly fine to wear for a stroll around the neighborhood.  “Except for the poo,”she mutters in that dry sarcastic tone.  I attempt to twist to see what she’s talking about.  Yeah, right.  Like I am limber enough, flexible enough or have enough of a waist to swivel to see my ample back end.  I settle for grabbing the hem of shorts and hauling it around until, sure enough, I see a smudge.  “Gross”  I say.  I drop the shorts, take them off and see that it isn’t a smudge, it’s a smear.  I large smear.  It’s brown and certainly looks like poo but there is no way that it actually is poo.  Moms out there–what did I do?  Yep. Gave it the old sniff test.  IT WAS POO.

Holy crap.  It wasn’t mine.  That starts a chain reaction.  I blame the dogs and run to check the area where the shorts were laying (don’t go there right now).  Nothing.  It’s way to big to be the rabbits…even the gigantic rabbit.  I am bumfuddled. And grossed out. And irritated and Kinsley dances around the room singing silly little chants about poo and mom.  I handle with the grace of a 2nd grader and scream, “its not my poo.  I did NOT poo on myself.  I didn’t.”

Suddenly a realization hits.  Sadie.  Diaperless.  Last night.  No way.  I look to Phil who looks to me and ask, “didn’t you smell something last night?” I did.  Thought it was my shoe.  He’s a bit green as he says, “Sadie was on the couch last night.”  Without thought we all race to the den and begin ripping pillows off the couch, sniffing as we do so.  This smear…in order for the smear to be as large as it is  are talking a pile of something, not a skid of something.  Pillows fly, quilts pile up in the floor.  We are sniffing and tossing and it dawns on me.  We are looking for a pile of poo in the couch left by my 2 year old.  Never, in any scenario of my life did I see this.  Ever.

“There is so a blog in this situation, ”  Phil says as the jerks the cushion cover off the couch and head into the laundry room.

The problem is that the cushion had a transfer from my shorts.  We’ve yet to find the pile that make the smear on my shorts.

No kidding.  You can’t make sh^& like this up.

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