Poop or chocolate?

There is this scene in Baby Mama where a child comes in to the house with something brown on their face. The mom stoops down and says with a smile on her face:

"Is that poop or chocolate?"

The child giggles.

"Poop or chocolate?"

The child laughs again, the mom swipes the brown stuff with her finger, tastes it, ruffles the child's hair and says "it's chocolate" as her horrified single sister looks on.

You would not believe how much less horrifying poop is after you have a baby.

I don't know if I would go as far as to taste it without being ABSOLUTELY sure it wasn't poop, but think about it... before children if you find you have poop ANYWHERE it is a really big problem. A oh-the-humanity-I'll-never-be-clean-again kind of problem. Really big. In the last 4 months I have looked down and seen poop on my hand and, you know it's no big deal. Nothing a little soap or a wet wipe can't fix.

Today we hit new heights in poop-toleration, however.

Bean projectile pooped in the library. Not possible you say? Oh yes, yes it is. I respond. We were in the stacks of DVDs, Bean was loudly announcing how freaking adorable he was and I was half-heartedly apologizing for his loudness (I didn't really mean it though - he was being adorable and come on, it's the audio visual section!) When Bean pooped like his behind was one of those canons at the circus you shoot people out of. It was pooptacular-ly gross. So powerful was the poopforce that it shot out the side of his diaper and ran down his leg and some even landed on the hallowed library carpet. Just don't check out any movies that begin with S for a while Ok? We hadn't brought the diaper bag for some odd reason, all I had was my nursing cover (a home-made hooter hider - best brand name ever) and a burp cloth made of a cloth diaper. So I covered Bean's leg with the nursing cover and ran down to the bathroom to see what I could improvise.

A half a roll of paper towels later we emerged from the bathroom with a cloth diaper around his nether regions held on there by a onesie that well, could use a good washing, or maybe two or three trips through the cycle. It was bad, friends, very bad.

As we raced to the car I looked down and saw poop on my hand. Not a lot, just a little. I wiped my hand on the rainy car door and got inside.

*we did, bathe him when we got home, and I washed my hand. Come on, I'm not that gross