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Yesterday after work I headed off to daycare to pick up the boys, like every other day. I loaded them both in the van, buckled them into their seats and raced off to Mike’s work to pick him up. Grant’s sits in the middle bench seat and Truman in the third row. Truman had two books back there with him yesterday, since books are his new favorite obsession (which I LOVE!) He is currently reading The Big Word Book which has 300 words with pictures in it and Where Is Spot? which is a cute story about little puppy Spot hiding from his mother. If books keep him happy while we drive, he can have a library back there for all I care.

I picked up Mike and we had to stop at the grocery store (of course) for a few things before going home. I ran in while he waited in the van so we didn’t have to unload the kids. We were chatting about our day and I mentioned how much I was looking forward to a relaxing evening, since the night before had been, well, let’s call it chaotic. I obviously spoke too soon.

As I climbed into the third row to unbuckled Truman, I noticed his Words book had a reddish brown substance smeared on the cover.

“What is that?” I asked, already kind of knowing in my heart.

“I go potty! Go potty?” Truman replied.

“Is that poop? It’s poop isn’t it?” I grabbed his hand and gently remove the book. And then… I SMELLED THE BOOK. Why would anyone ever do that, you ask? Because that is the only tried and true way to test if something you believe to be shit, is actually shit. “Yup, that’s poop!” Mike stood outside the van, frozen in horror.

“What? How? Where did it come from? Is it on his hands? Smell his hands!” He was incredulous and disgusted, and now wanted me to smell Truman’s hands to see if the poop from the book was also on his sweet baby. My rational brain told me that of course it was on his hands, how else would it have made it on to the book? But for some reason… I SMELLED HIS HANDS. Why would I do that, you ask? Because I was in a panic and my rational brain hadn’t caught up to my frenzied brain yet. I didn’t actually smell poop on his hands though.

“Poop!” Truman answered knowingly. Like, hey dumb asses, stop smelling various things and take care of this shit!

“Ugh, let me get him out. Mike, grab Grant so I can pull this seat out.” I placed both books on the floor of the van, noticing Spot had a few more spots than usual, and pulled Truman out of his seat. There is only so much room in the back, so I had no choice but to place him on my lap for a second before swiveling around to get him to the door. When he slid off of my lap and stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw a large, lovely shit streak on my pants. “Oh God, the poop is on my leg! Do not let him touch anything! Truman, go to the garage, we are stripping you down.” I unbuckled the car seat and threw both books inside of it. Everything was in need of disinfecting.

I stripped Truman’s shirt off in the garage, and looked for the obvious source of the poop. Strangely, I couldn’t see anything on him! His pants didn’t look covered like I imagined they would. It was like mystery poo was materializing before my eyes on surfaces, but somehow avoided Truman completely. “Ok, honey let’s go right to the bathroom. Don’t touch anything.”

Truman went directly to the bathroom and I stripped off my own poopy pants, and the rest of his clothes. That’s when it became obvious. The entire side of his diaper had shifted into his butt crack, allowing a pile of poop to ooze right out of the side, fall down his pant leg and squish onto his shoes. The shoes had been doing the incognito spreading around of feces. A diaper wedgie had ruined my relaxing evening. We got all cleaned up and changed, I pulled apart the car seat (which you almost need a specialized degree for) and threw the cover into the washing machine. I washed down the books with a rag and cleaner, (thank goodness for board books!) and scrubbed both of Truman’s shoes with a toothbrush and hot soapy water. By the time the cover was dry, the seat reassembled, dinner and bedtime routines over, I was exhausted. I decided that I would reinstall his seat in the morning.

Leaving things for the morning is NOT a good idea for me. I always think I’ll have time, but in reality I never have time. Such was the case this morning when I had five minutes to install a convertible car seat into a cramped third row bench seat, in a vehicle that doesn’t possess the Latch system. Our seats go in by belt, which makes tightening the seat a workout. Safely installing a car seat is a massively important ordeal. The seat CANNOT move more than one inch from side to side at the belt path, no matter what. The recline has to be correct, and the seat needs to be straight, not tipping over. I got the seat installed perfectly in very little time, it was very secure and wasn’t moving at all! Then it was time to put the locking clip onto the seat belt. To do that, you have to unbuckle the belt and hold it in place, slide on the belt clip and re-buckle the seat belt. This is where it got tricky. I unbuckled, slid the clip on and pushed down as hard as I could on the seat, pulling the belt down with everything I had. Not even close. I stood up and put one foot in the seat. Still not close enough to buckle. I put both feet in the seat, squatted down and tried to pull the seat belt down and the buckle up. Balancing precariously, leaning over red faced and frustrated, the thought ran through my mind; “Female patient, 32, broken neck after falling out of her toddler’s car seat…” I decided to start over. I climbed out of the seat, my hair sticking to my neck and face, sweaty and breathing heavy. I took the clip off, readjusted the belt and replaced the locking clip. I pushed down as hard as I possibly could in the center of the seat and buckled the seat belt. The seat didn’t wiggle. Whew!

I went inside to finish preparing for the day, already running five minutes late. This is what happens when the shit hits the van.