The Shit* Storm

(*I apologize in advance to Bubby and Pamma for my prolific use of the word "shit" throughout this post. As you will soon see, no other word would do it justice).

Louis is getting more bottles of formula than breast milk these days and my biggest problems with this are that, 1) he doesn't digest it as well and so we still have a lot of choking, burping, and barfing; and 2) formula stinks. I HATE the way it smells. It stinks on his skin and on his clothes and on his breath. Blech. Anyway, because of the stink he needs a bath every day. He dribbles and drools and spits up a ton when he eats so by mid-afternoon he has a nice crust in the fat folds of his neck.

Norah has been really cute and sweet about wanting to help me give him a bath and she's actually really helpful-she will tickle his feet or talk to him or shake a toy at him to keep him entertained. This afternoon I got everything set up for his bath-filled the infant tub and put it on the kitchen counter, got his soap and washcloth ready, and got Norah set up on her stool. I got Lou undressed in his room, scooped him up, and walked the 2.3 seconds it takes to get from his room to the kitchen.

Norah was standing on her stool with her back to me (facing the tub), and Louis was over my shoulder (so we were face to face and his butt was to Norah's back). You can see where this is going. As soon as I was standing directly behind Norah, Louis peed more than he has ever peed in his life. And then his butt exploded. And by that, I mean HIS BUTT EXPLODED. It was a literal shit storm. Shit rained down all over my shirt, soaking it as well as my bra. Shit streaked down my pants. Shit landed on the floor, Norah's stool, the counter, the tub, and the kitchen cabinets. Shit soaked the back of Norah's shirt and shit saturated that beautiful curly hair. Yes, that's right. Louis, at the ripe old age of 4.5 weeks, shit all over his sister's hair.

I had one of those moments where I literally had no idea what I should do. I quickly took off my shirt and then stripped Norah down (of course taking her shirt off caused even more shit to get in her hair, but by that point it didn't really matter). Then she was told to sit on the floor and not move a muscle. She was gagging by this point (of course she was), and I feared that if she started barfing, even though I wouldn't blame her, it would really be all over. Luckily she kept it together and we laughed about it while I quickly got Louie clean, wrapped up in a towel, and then diapered and dressed. He got put in the bouncer in the bathroom while I dumped Norah in the tub and scrubbed her down.

At least he looked cute.

Newborn shit is surprisingly difficult to get out of toddler hair. We washed and rinsed about 3 times, which as you can imagine, Norah was less than thrilled about. Thankfully she was a total sport about it and just kept saying, "I can't believe Louis pooped in my hair!"

It was an easy decision to make once everyone was settled down-it's definitely a pizza and pajama movie party kind of night. Starting now.