If you are not a fan of gross poop stories, do yourself a favor and don't read this post.
So two days ago Emma was pooping some really horrible nasty unnatural stuff. So much so that I decided to use disposable diapers until it got better. Yesterday she didn't poop at all, so today I was bracing myself for an explosion. Tonight we went to Blockbuster, and although I bring my purse (which has a spare diaper and a box of travel wipes) everywhere, for some reason this time I decided to leave it at home. Once there, we're browsing through the aisles and I smell a horrible stench. I reach to pull back Emma's diaper and look inside and suddenly my entire hand is covered in poop. Oh. No. It has gushed out of her diaper and is halfway up her back and all over her shirt, pants, and coat. Steve goes to ask someone to unlock the door to the bathroom while I lead the little stinker over to it. Inside we discover there are TWO paper towels left. TWO. Steve, ever helpful, says, "Okay, well I'm going to check out the movies now," and disappears. About twenty minutes, two paper towels, and an entire roll of toilet paper later, Emma and I emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing her poopy coat and her poopy pants while I carried the rest of her poopy items. We stank terribly on the way home and both got a serious scrubbing in the bath once we got home. Ick ick ick.
Sometimes Steve will take Emma to Blockbuster by himself while I take a shower or something. I am SO sad that this wasn't one of those times. I probably would have died of giddy, hysterical laughter if that had been the case. Steve doesn't handle poop incidents well, so he surely would have been scarred for life.