A little more scatological content

If you think there is too much discussion of poop on this blog, please do not read on.

No, really. Don't. It's pretty gross.

Still with me? Brave soul.

Okay, so, I admit it. One of the reasons Barak had to wait so long to get more of his favorite carrot kugel was the Dreaded Diaper Aftermath. This is a very healthful kugel. It's composed of grated raw carrots, whole wheat flour, wheat bran, applesauce, canola oil, and honey, in descending order. We are talking major high fiber. We are talking diapers that appear to have been filled with horse manure. It's not pleasant.

But since carrot kugel is, as I say, very healthful, and it's hard to pass up a very healthful food item that Barak treats like cake, I made it for him last week (as I mentioned in an earlier post). I baked it in two nine-inch cake pans, instead of the 9 x 13 that the recipe suggests. He got to eat one kugel (which took him about a day), and the other I froze.

Last weekend, we went to visit my SIL and her family, which now includes a brand new (and incredibly gorgeous, if I do say so) little boy. Because baby Ephraim is six weeks old and still very very high-maintenance, I brought some Shabbos food along--makings for a few dishes, along with challah, dessert, and two kugels, one of them the carrot kugel. Barak happily partook of this pretty much all day long on Shabbos. He had it for lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner--in fact pretty much all he ate all day was kugel and yogurt. And then he went to bed.

When he woke up the next morning, wanting breakfast. I thought I smelled something suspicious, but at that point he was already in his high chair. After breakfast, he scooted off to his cousins' bedroom, land of Many Many Toys. At that point the odor was more than suspicious, but with five kids in diapers in one room (everyone is still sleeping in them, though the older two don't need them during the day) there were many possible culprits here.

"Barak, are you poopy?" Barak pretended not to hear me and kept on playing in the very exciting closet. Hmm. This is a definite sign.

"Barak, is your diaper poopy?" At this, he turned around and said, very seriously, "No. No diaper."

Well, just because you don't want a clean diaper doesn't mean I'm not going to change you, buster.

So I got the wipes, got a clean diaper, and got his clothes out. And, B"H, took advantage of my SIL's offer of a vinyl changing pad (I tend to plunk him down on a plastic bag when we're traveling, so I can just throw the whole thing away.)

Down goes a protesting Barak. Imma unzips pajamas. And...

AAAGGGHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

He was not kidding. He had no diaper. It had, apparently, come off during the night, and was wedged down in one pajama leg. And his nice fleece LL Bean pajamas were completely filled with post-kugel manure. Gallons of it. Imperial gallons, even. I cannot even begin to describe how disgusting this was, and I get paid to use words well. There was just so much of it. And it was just. So. Gross.

After a few attempts, it became clear how futile any attempt at cleaning him off with baby wipes was going to be. Stronger measures were obviously necessary. So I zipped him back up, took him to the bathroom, stood him on a plastic bag and scraped off as much as possible (as he howled and protested and squirmed and I tried valiantly not to gag while also trying to avoid getting the poop all over ME and the clothes I planned to wear on the plane) and dropped him in the bathtub at arm's length. And turned his PJ's inside out over the toilet. I don't think I need to add any sound effects here. I think that those are best left to your imagination.

Did I mention how completely disgusting this was? No, I don't think I did. It was SO GROSS.

And what really gets me is how totally unperturbed he was to be walking around in a poop suit. He had fecal matter smeared half an inch thick from underarms to knees, and was not bothered in the slightest.

Yeccchh.