Wholly Crap

Since I've taken Zachary on our road trip to Weed he has had to exclusively eat formula. On the plus side he's starting to gain weight and fill out. He's also sleeping for 5 hour stretches at night instead of his usual 2 1/2.

There has been but one downside. One. Major. Downside.
My son now takes the largest dumps I have ever seen.

Allow me for a moment to shed some perspective on this statement. My best friend Travis and I have for years had a running competition as to who can squeeze out the largest crap. Since Travis is half again my size, I have had to settle for moral victories. But none-the-less it takes more than your average bowel movement to impress me.

Earlier today my son's bowel movement took my breath away. And I don't just mean that figuratively.

My son had not taken a dump in about 24hrs (this apparently is kind of a big deal for an infant). The entire household was experiencing a growing sense of unease. My dad would jump at the slightest sound that resembled a fart. Meanwhile, my mother had been pestering him all day long to hurry up and shit already. Lesson: Be careful what you ask for.

Later that evening, I looked down at my son and noticed a peculiar, almost strained look on his face. My stomach sank. We had gotten our wish. It was the "Big One", Mt. St. Smellens was erupting. I opened my son's diaper to find that his emission had pushed his pathetic, tiny Huggie well past it's feeble limitations. The entire backside of his jammies were completely stained and ruined.

I instantly felt a rising sense of panic. Why hadn't we prepared? Why didn't we stock up on supplies? Was there enough food in the storm cellar? I cursed my mental lapse, lack of preparation and consequent current state of emergency I had befallen. I immediately called my mother for back up. She came running into the room and the stench stopped her dead in her tracks. She did an abrupt about-face and began busying herself in the next room conveniently looking for what she claimed to be diaper wipes. Despite my protests that simple wipes would not suffice and to bring me some acetone, hydrochloric acid or better yet a blow torch, she calmly reassured me that the "Tushy Towels" would be fine.

Although skeptical, I decided to forgo argument and instead focus my attention to the giggling crap factory smiling up at me.

The seconds were dragging by like hours. My forehead beading with perspiration, I struggled in an epic battle with my 4 month old son to keep him from squirming out of my grip and spreading his hair-singeing butt-funk onto the couch and floor.

This, ultimately was a battle I lost against a far superior opponent.

I was able to rent a "Rug Doctor" carpet cleaner to get the worst out of the floors and off the walls. But my dog is definitely going to need a professionals' touch.

Anyway, as part of the sterilization process recommended by the Health Department of California we needed to bathe not just ourselves but the little bugger too. Here is some video from the bath we gave him near ground zero.