On Thursday, I left at Knox’s nap time to go to the grocery store. When I came back, I immediately hear Trevor bellowing from upstairs “Jessica!! Come up here… HURRY!!!”
This is never a good sign.
I walk into Knox’s room and am immediately knocked out by the smell exuding from his bed. It appeared that someone had pooped in his diaper and decided to remedy that situation…take matters into his own hands… smear poop all over the walls. He sat there, looking up at us, hands coated in poop, poop on his sheets, poop on his stuffed animals and poop on the walls. He had this perma-grin plastered on his face, and then I looked at Trevor and said “Oh dear…” Knox looked at me and said “oh dear.” Then burst into embarrassed tears. We stuck him in the bathtub and proceeded to scrub down the bed, the room and the child.
Knox has never done this before, and he absolutely hates to have his hands dirty, so we are assuming he is now strongly opposed to the feeling of a dirty diaper. We resolved to watch Knox like a hawk in his monitor from that moment onward, to make sure this didn’t happen again.
The next morning, I walked into Knox’s room and was greeted by a familiar odor in the hallway. Sure enough, I opened his door, and once again, Knox had decorated his walls with a medium that some would consider less than desirable. It was even worse this time, he’d obviously gotten braver, and EVERYTHING was coated. He even pulled his decorative Pottery Barn (ie: too expensive to be splattered with feces) pillows onto the bed and added them to the poop party.
I was not amused.
We bathed him again, and cleaned the walls again and scrubbed the bed AGAIN. This time the stuffed animals had to be washed, not just wiped off. Especially his Winnie the Pooh. As Trevor said, “Well, I guess Winnie the Pooh lived up to his name, huh?” Sad but true. Poor Winnie the Pooh Poo.
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