Not for the Weak of Guts

Not for the Weak of Guts

Before I begin, let me issue this blunt disclaimer.

IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, DO NOT READ THIS POST. IT IS GROSS AND LONG AND QUITE POSSIBLY PUKE WORTHY. CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED.

The reason I haven’t posted lately is because of my distraction from the grossness of last Sunday. I feel haunted, and a little dizzy each time I think of it. So maybe writing about it will get it out of my system.

Sunday started off as a beautiful day. The girls slept in, which meant that the whole house slept in, too. After nice long morning naps, we decided to go for a picnic. We picked up some chicken strip baskets at the Dairy Queen and headed for a big, shady park. Everyone ate well, and we proceeded on a walk down a tree-lined walking path. The girls were laughing, and we were all enjoying some outside time.

As the girls tired, we decided to drive out to our lot to see if any other lots have been sold. We have to keep an eye on our next neighborhood, after all. Perfect time for naps, right? Not long after leaving the park, I smelled a foul odor. Both girls were playing happily in the back seat, so I suggested that my DH pull over to change a diaper at the next convenient spot. Moments later, the smell overwhelmed me. I glanced back and was horrified to see that Lillian’s hands were full of feces. In her hair, on her face, and wouldn’t you know, her chunked up finger was on its way into her nostril.

I screeched to DH to pull over immediately, and we whisked her out of the car. In the process, I also became covered in poo. Our tiny, feminine, precious little girl had exploded. As I went through wipe after wipe, trying to remove the disgust, DH tackled the car seat. She’d leaked through the car seat and filled the base, which also spilled over onto the actual seat! There was no way we could put her back in there.

Wearing only a diaper, she sat up front with me and shared my seatbelt. For any readers who know me well, you know that I am the biggest rule-following nerd of all time. But there was just no way that I could plunk her back into the car seat o’ filth. We rushed home and I raced her to the shower. No inflatable duckie tub today. Just the force of a warm shower and LOTS of soap. While she and I scrubbed, she splashed and giggled. This sweet child was completely oblivious to my nausea. And she seemed to be completely comfortable!

Each time I remember the grotesque image of her finger entering the nostril, which seems to be forever branded into my memory, I have to talk myself out of vomiting. Queen of the strong stomachs, I’ve finally found my weakness.

As I began drying Lillian off, DH traded me for a screaming Breanna. She was soaked and covered in grass clippings and was very, very upset. Apparently, while I was rushing Lillian to the tub, DH took Breanna out of her seat, and as he plopped her onto his hip: splat. Same explosion, in the car seat and onto my car seats, as well as onto DH’s white shirt and khaki shorts, and all over a good portion of my car’s upholstery.

Being the man that he is, he rushed her outside and began hosing her off. As he told me this, I was picturing her clumsily trying to run away into the yard, naked. But he reassured me that he held her as he sprayed her, and that the grass clippings just found their way onto her skin from the breeze. I’m still not sure.

After thoroughly washing her (yes, it was in her hair and on her face, too), I lotioned and dressed them and put them down for a nap. Then off I went, in search of new car seats. It was time to move out of the infant seats, anyway. In the meantime, DH had the fun task of pressure-washing the soiled car seats and laundering the cloth parts on hot a couple times. I think they’re ok.

After numerous, NUMEROUS attempts to scrub and sanitize my car, I think I might still smell a faint bit of ick. I use Lysol each night after we get home, and then Febreeze right before bed. After all the scrubbing we did, I can’t imagine there could be even a hint of a feces-infected germ, but my paranoia is driving me a little crazy. I’m going to spend my lunchtime tomorrow at Don’s Carwash, opting for the heavy-duty, expensive, upholstery cleaning. I’m guessing they don’t have too many 2007 models in for that already, but who really knows?

Needless to say, I didn’t eat a thing the rest of Sunday. At first I thought it was just a pregnancy thing, since I’m still in my first trimester. But after some consideration, I’m convinced that this experience could make pretty much anyone sick. As big of a fan as I’ve been of DQ in the past decade, I’m never eating there again.

So there you have it. There’s your mental nausea for the week. May you have a poop-free rest of your week.