Mondays are Shitty

Literally. (WARNING: there are graphic pictures of doo doo in this blog post. Read at your own risk!)

My morning ritual goes like this: wake up, feed Camille, take a shower, give her a sponge bath, lotion her up, get her dressed. Then we come downstairs, I sit her on her playmat, and I make myself breakfast and read Interweb stuff while she plays with her toys. By the time I'm done eating, she's ready for second breakfast, and then she takes a nap.

I love mornings.

But today, things went a little differently. I set her down on her playmat and started reading Interweb, and about 20 minutes passed, and she started grumping. I usually ignore her little grumpy cries because usually she's just making noise because she wants attention. Today, she grumped for a little bit, and then started howling, and she threw herself back and cried while she kicked her feet in the air.

I got up and went to her. As I approached, I smelled poopy. I thought, "Oh, that's why she's crying, because she made dookers and she's uncomfortable."

So, like any good mommy, I picked her up with the intention of changing her poopy diaper.

When I picked her up, I put one hand on her back to keep her steady. And when I did, I put my hand in something squishy.

At first, for some reason, I thought it was just the lotion that I normally slather on her every morning. But no, this felt like a LOT of lotion, and I didn't put that much on-- wait a second... IT'S SHIT.

So I ran upstairs with her and proceeded to use a fuckton of wet wipes to clean her off, pausing just long enough to snap a couple of pictures.

The inside of her pretty dress.

Bathed in doo doo.

It went all the way up to her NECK. Not exaggerating.

I gave up on the wet wipes and just gave her a bath.

I think the god of diapers is trying to tell us that we need to start wrapping her ass with the next size up.