Over the weekend, I offered to babysit my niece and nephew so that my brother and his wife could have a night out. And now I fully understand the expression “no good deed goes unpunished.”I got a whiff of something vile while playing with my nephew, and then found myself on the short end of the timetable: his parents weren’t due back for several hours, and I couldn’t let the little guy sit in his own filth for that long.
After laying him on the changing table and yanking off his tiny jeans, two Velcro straps separated me from my fate. I pulled on them, and what I experienced was like a soccer-mob style punch in the face.
There was more pooh than baby.
We haven’t given up the search for a weapon of mass destruction yet, right? Because that load was a WMD if I've ever seen one. As I tore through almost a whole pack of baby wipes to clean it all up, I was convinced that at any second my face was going to melt like that Nazi dude in Temple of Doom.
Meanwhile, adding insult to injury was the boy's four-year-old sister, who found this to be the funniest moment of her young life. She stopped laughing long enough to ask me if I needed a shower, and I had to seriously ponder my answer.
Eventually, I got him re-diapered, and The Great Pooh Incident of ’09 was officially over. Let us never speak of it again.
