This weekend was your typical spring weekend in a typical suburb. The nice weather permitted us to work on the property, you know: cut the grass, plant some flowers, sweep the driveway, etc. Melissa and I try, but we simply can’t keep up with the crazy lady that lives in front of our house. You know the type I’m sure… Everything is pristine on their property! The vibrant green, freshly watered grass is perfectly cut to a thick carpet like quality, while the flower beds simply overflow with petaled rainbows of color. The asphalt driveway is of an obsidian sheen not seen since 2001: A Space Odyssey… you expect chimps to walk up and touch it, 
then start beating each other to death! 
In fact, she rarely parks her own car there! It’s as if she knows of it’s slumbering, evil, power. 
But a quick example of her “level of commitment” to her property: During a rain storm this spring, she would constantly come out of her house to pick leaves of her lawn during the storm… leaves that would blow onto her lawn… every 2 minutes… really… Even Sam can’t believe it…
So anyhoot (ranting over!), we even had some family and friends over for supper on Saturday night, and all went well. It was Sunday morning, that the titled event happened. Now, before proceeding, understand that new parents keep track of their kids bowel movements just to be sure the infant isn’t constipated and or dehydrated. As a general rule, at least one good poop every 2 - 3 days is considered normal. Melissa and I had noticed Sam hadn’t done the dump-dance in the past 2 days, so we knew it was on its way. We could see it in his eyes, like storm clouds on the horizon.
In the hurried confusion that followed, some events may have been forgotten, but I’ve done my best to recreate the time line here, for documentation purposes, so that others may learn from this tragedy.
11:15 A.M. - Living Room, Sam’s Technicolor play mat: Melissa is prepping lunch while I entertain Sam. Suddenly, Sam stops his gleeful playing, furrows his brow and begins grunting several times in rapid succession.
11:16 A.M. - Living Room, my nose: the smell of Sam’s hard work assaults my olfactory senses, setting off my natural defense system. Adrenaline is released into my system, thus my heart rate increases and my blood pressure shoots up to prevent me from passing out. Yes, I am well trained.
11:17 A.M. - Kitchen: Sam’s biological weapon reaches his mother. She’s caught unaware and a thump is heard as she faints on the kitchen floor.
11:18 A.M. - Sam’s room, 2nd Floor: I’ve taken Sam to the change table in his room. The ground floor of the house is lost. I don my oven mitts and scuba mask for protection as I gently peel away his clothes and eventually, his diaper. I begin to sweat, the vile taste of panic rising in my throat… there’s poop everywhere! Sam smiles.
11:24 A.M. - Sam’s room, change table: After 6 minutes of furious wiping with baby wipes, Sam is still contaminated. He’s been wriggling around smearing his poop/spinach/Velcro byproduct onto everything. It’s now on his feet, knees, legs and I’m pretty sure it jumped onto my hands as my left hand thumb was full of the stuff. Having smeared his change table mat while I held his legs aloft, setting him back down now painted his back in the poopy mixture as well. I frowned. Again, Sam smiled.
11:25 A.M. - Upstairs Bathroom: Melissa recovers from the preemptive strike and runs to get me a bowl of soapy water and a washcloth. I like to think of this moment as “the turn of the tide“. The toxic poop was no match for the soapy water, as I cleansed the entire lower half of Sam’s stool afflicted body with an invincible wipe, rinse and repeat combat tactic. Every last bit of the enemy was destroyed, even when it cowered in the baby fat folds of his little legs. Victory was ours!!!
11:28 A.M. - Sam’s Room - Change table: Melissa and I celebrate the end of the fecal hostilities as I finish drying Sam off and begin to fit a new diaper on him. I turn to Melissa to thank her for the flanking support, when a giggle from our son turns my head around… and to our complete shock, Sam is busily peeing away on himself! By the time I regain control and cover his pee-pistol, he’s been covered from head to toe in pee, as have my hands and arms, the change table and his clothes. I frown, and Sam and Mom giggle.
11:29 A.M. - Upstairs Bathroom: Sam is now in his bath, since this is obviously what he wanted from the beginning of his planned, two stage attack. I let him splash around in the warm water after having washed him, and tell him it’s time to come out. As I reach for him, he again begins to pee in the bath! This time, we all giggle, happy he was in the bath when he did it. I place him in his towel and pat the little guy down, getting him nice and dry. I remember thinking: “He’s got to be empty now right?”. Well folks as it turns out, he was.
11:50 A.M. - Ground floor, Sam’s swing: We are back on the now decontaminated area of the ground floor. Sam is happy, he always is through these ordeals, and Melissa and I can finally eat. Things are back to normal, for now. But as this picture of Sam shows, he’s clearly not impressed with our diaper changing prowess. So fair warning to all you out there, babies are cute, sure, but they can strike with merciless brutality if left unchecked for too long. The casualties were high and lives will forever be changed after this… I might never regain the full use of my nose. The unknown future rolls toward us. I face it, for the first time, with a sense of hope. Because if a baby, a poop machine, can temporarily be stopped, maybe we can once again live clean.
