The other night we had our first encounter with a middle-of-the-night-blowout.
I wish I was talking about tires.
I was feeding Guy and attempting to help him back to sleep, when he looked up at me with those huge, innocent blue eyes and proceeded to crap out of his diaper and all over me, the pillow in my lap, and himself. This event may have been followed by an evil grin, but I was too busy retching to notice.
Once I regained composure and began thinking about what to do next, I nudged Greg awake. "Greg, wake up. I need your help," I said.
Greg is notoriously foggy when he first wakes up, so I turned on the light to help make the problem more apparent. Greg got out of bed without a word and left the room. My first inclination was to start giving instructions, but instead, I thought I'd wait this one out and see what his plan of action was. A minute later, Greg returned with a paper towel roll with one paper towel left on it. Then he walked out of the room again and returned a few moments later with two wet wipes.
If you could have seen the spread of Guy's handiwork, you would probably have laughed at the idea of cleaning it up with three small squares of paper product. But in Greg's defense, the two-pronged attack would likely have worked for a less prolific pooper. As it was, it was kind of hilarious, though no one was laughing at 2:00 a.m.
Somehow, I managed to get Guy to Greg and wad up my nightgown and the pillow without getting feces all over the bed or sheets. Miraculous.
I just hope this isn't the first of many repeat performances.
- Jennifer
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