It’s Not All Mary Poppins

You can’t judge a book by its cover

stinkyTwo little diapered butts toddle by. The stench is eye-watering.

“Noah, do you have a poo?” Noah is not 100% accurate, but he’s pretty good. No harm in streamlining the investigative process.

“No.”

stinky“Okay, Tank, let’s have a look at you, then.” I do the oh-so-familiar yoink at the rear waistband and have a gander past those pink cheeks to the depths beyond. The second I pull the waistband back, I’m further assaulted by stench. This is the source, all right. Gah.

I tug four or five baby wipes from the box. Normally I get one or two, but, if the stench is anything to go by, this one’s going to be a multiple-wipe event.

And there, nestled in the diaper, lays one marble of poo. Okay, maybe a smallish walnut, but no more. A smallish walnut that flips off the diaper into the toilet, and requires but a quickish swipe at his butt with a single wipe to clean him. I stuffed the other four or five wipes back in the box.

rosesI should know by now that you can’t go by the smell. I’ve opened many a diaper expecting nothing more than wet, and been confronted by a gallon of oozing goo. And this reverse? Teeny amount, discharging 100x its volume in toxic fumes? That would be Zoe.

Sweetest little thing you’d ever want to see, a small-boned delicate black-eyed waif of a girl. Soft-spoken, too, a tiny, hesitant voice… an temperament, too. She was one of those kids I actually had to teach to say “No!” and “Mine!” (Really. They do exist. “Use your strong voice, Zoe. He won’t stop until you speak up for yourself. Strong voice.”)

All that mildness was utterly forsaken in the realm of poop. Lordy, that child was potent. Never seen smelled anything like it.

stinkyWe were in a playgroup once, a large, concrete-walled room with some twenty other children and assorted caregivers and parents. Half-a-dozen of us caught the whiff at the same time, and began the Hunting of the Poo.

It was Zoe, of course. And when I opened the diaper and the other adults saw the single tiny marble therein, lo, there was Great Marvelling.

stinkySeems Tank is another such as Zoe. Thank goodness they only seem to come along once every ten years…

On the upside, I guess I’ll be saving on baby wipes.

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September 15, 2009 - Posted by | eeewww, individuality | ,

5 Comments »

  1. LOL! I am so happy you are back from vacation! I love reading your blog!

    Why, thank you. Nice to see your happy comment, too!

    Comment by Jess | September 15, 2009 | Reply

  2. we always called those types of poos, the plug. always seemed to be followed by a gigantic one a little while later!

    While this is true of many children, this is not true of the Zoe poo, hereafter called a z-poo (pronounced ‘zed-poo’). A z-poo must be some concentrated form of the stuff, because true z-poo’ers only produce incredibly stench-laden mini-turds. These micro-turds are not harbingers of something much worse coming down the pike — they are the event. In its noisesome entirety. Gah.

    Comment by Dana | September 15, 2009 | Reply

  3. My son is the same way… I haven’t decided if it’s dark matter (Futurama style) or just pure evil the kid put out…in small little nuggets at a time.

    Isn’t it ghastly? “Small little nuggets of pure evil.” Yup.

    Comment by Jennifer | September 15, 2009 | Reply

  4. I teach a state health and safety course that included a diapering procedure that required you to take out the wipes you thought you would need and PUT THE CONTAINER AWAY. Since we all know there are kids who poo a lot with little smell the possibility of a naked baby half covered with **** and no wipes within reach was quite high. We finally got someone running the program who could actually think and that stupidity is gone but you can only imagine the shrieks of disbelief from my students.

    Because every good caregiver is psychic, right, and knows without looking how many they’re going to need?!? Good grief. What a recipe for disaster that rule was!

    Comment by jwg | September 15, 2009 | Reply

  5. hahahaha My son is the same way. Not all the time, but there are days I can just smell him (from the OTHER ROOM) and the poo is the size of…well, you said it, a walnut. I can’t help but be proud.

    Because hell, it’s an ACHIEVEMENT, that level of stench!

    Comment by elisa | September 19, 2009 | Reply


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