John Goes Nuclear

I had just finished dressing John yesterday morning. I sat him up in the middle of the bed.

"I'm going to walk the dog," I told Sonya, "keep an eye on the kid." She gave me the thumbs-up.

I came back in about ten minutes later. At the front door - on the other end of the apartment from the bedroom - the unmistakable smell of babyshit hit me.

I went back to the bedroom and it was just hellish. Crap all over the bed, running out of a diaper, smeared on the sheets. Sonya was cleaning the kid with a big wet cloth. John looked very pleased with himself.

We put the horribly soiled clothes in a plastic bag, stripped off the sheets and hit the mattress with Febreze. We scrubbed and re-dressed the kid. All this - a horrible fecal misadventure! - put us maybe ten minutes behind schedule.