First of all, this story is about poop, which makes me wonder: Is this what my life has amounted to? Stories about poop? Because sometimes that's what it feels like, folks; straight As, a double major, a lengthy resume of both personal and professional accomplishments, and my latest topic of conversation? Poop.
Okay, consider my lot in life accepted. Moving on...
After dinner this evening, I changed E.V.'s (barely) poopy diaper in the living room and left it on the floor, thinking I'd just take it with me to the kitchen trashcan when I made my next trip (streamlining). I plopped E.V. down a few feet away and proceeded to turn my back to her as I cleaned up her toys on the other side of the room. Within a few minutes I heard blech-ing, and as I turned around, I could see the profile silhouette of my poor baby sitting straight up and vomiting profusely. I rushed over, and as she turned to face me straight-on, I could see her tiny, perfectly-formed mouth--full of poop. That little minx had unwrapped her dirty diaper, grabbed the lone turd she had left in it, sat herself up all proper-like and decided to eat her own poop. Seriously?!?
I called to Ryan for help, asking him to bring clean pajamas with him, and as he entered the crime scene and saw her baby hands with remnants of turd in them, I risked having two vomitous Shoves to deal with. We managed to get her cleaned up and her mouth cleaned out, but Ryan claimed he could still smell it. As he searched for the source, he eventually declared, "It's her breath." Yuck, yuck, yuck. We had baby-wiped her mouth clean, but it still smelled like, well, like she ate a turd, so what do you do if you can't brush a baby's (lack of) teeth or give her mouth wash? Give her a lollipop. (Which is exactly what we did and exactly what worked to give her fruity-fresh breath!)
The positive in all this commotion? I don't think E.V. will ever decide to eat poop again. Between the barfing and calamity that it caused, she seems to have had her fill. :)