The Poopocalypse
It was about 4:12 AM. I was roused from slumber by a tiny squealing over the baby monitor that rose to a full-on wail. Like a jack rabbit I popped up from my bed, grabbed a flashlight, and made my way into Isaac's room. He was in his crib being a little fussy. I picked him up and started to comfort him. He quieted quickly. We sat down in the bean bag chair and began to chat. He was looking at me with that face, part scowl, part skeptical eyebrow when it happened. It sounded like a sponge being squeezed dry quickly, like a rush of liquid passing through a screen. But this time it continued. Not once, not twice, but a series of squishes. And then he smiled.
I waited a second for another volley but nothing came. I put him on the changing table only to realize that his onsey was damp. I flipped it up and saw it covered in yellow goo. I took it off. Then I saw the real damage. The yellow goo had shot out of his diaper and up the spine of his back. It ended between his shoulder blades. And then I saw it had come out the front of his diaper, around the frank and beans and up to his belly. It was on the changing table. It had happened--the Poopocalypse. It was beyond "a dump," more than an "assplosion." It was the poop to end all poops and it was everywhere. It was on my hands, and later that morning I would discover, on my shirt. I cried out to myself: Oh my God. Bianca heard me on the baby monitor and came in. And then she started laughing. I was hit by the shrapnel of a poop grenade, thrown by Isaac.
I waited a second for another volley but nothing came. I put him on the changing table only to realize that his onsey was damp. I flipped it up and saw it covered in yellow goo. I took it off. Then I saw the real damage. The yellow goo had shot out of his diaper and up the spine of his back. It ended between his shoulder blades. And then I saw it had come out the front of his diaper, around the frank and beans and up to his belly. It was on the changing table. It had happened--the Poopocalypse. It was beyond "a dump," more than an "assplosion." It was the poop to end all poops and it was everywhere. It was on my hands, and later that morning I would discover, on my shirt. I cried out to myself: Oh my God. Bianca heard me on the baby monitor and came in. And then she started laughing. I was hit by the shrapnel of a poop grenade, thrown by Isaac.