A birthday poop story

My precious Elena turns one today. I was thinking a lot last night about the miracle of her birth. It truly was amazing how God worked out so many details. Our OB, who has been practicing for several decades, had never seen a situation like that before.

Seeing her personality grow and develop this past year has been so much fun. She is feisty and loving, determined, sensitive and loves to smile and laugh. Our family would be incomplete without her.

So, all morning, I've been in a sentimental, slightly sappy mood. My darling baby decided to bring a healthy dose of reality into that. I was changing her diaper when Joel woke up. He wasn't feeling well, and climbed into my lap to nurse. I cuddled him, then smelled the most awful stench. My first thought was that he had had diarrhea or something, but he was clean.

I looked over, and Elena had two handfuls of the most horrible Playdough substitute you could imagine. I'll spare you a graphic description of color and consistency, but it was not typical breastfed-baby-poo. It is going to be a looooong time before I crave guacamole again.

In the split second that I was frozen in horror, she managed to spread it through her hair and face, then grab my hair before I could dodge. (I sprained my foot, and am really slow these days).

Realizing that all was lost, anyway, I scooped her up to hobble to the bathroom. She had also managed to cover two of my shoes and one of Joel's, along with an impressive amount of carpet. She never has that much in a diaper--why now?! Ay, ay ay.

We are both bathed and no longer covered in smelly, hazardous biomatter. I've had the carpet extractor out, but it still needs work. We're off to celebrate the birthday (without any more of the little cookies I gave her last night. Not sure if she was allergic to something in there, but it definitely didn't agree with her). The birthday has got to get sweeter from here, right? :D