I have a little story about the last few days. The major players are me, my wife, my child, and poop.
Gallons of poop.
As you may have read previously, the family was in Tucson last week. Erin was there for a work-related week-long function. Thessaly and I were there to keep her company. It was a tough first couple of days, with the adjusting to the new locale and new schedule. But around wednesday, things calmed down and naps were taken, and work was worked on, and all were generally happy.
Which brings us to Thursday, where in the morning, a diaper failed in its duty. Odd occurrence but the rest of the day went about as normal. Naps were taken, work was worked on, and a nice father/daughter stroll was taken about the hotel’s beautiful hilly, desert grounds.
But Thursday evening, just before Erin was about to go out to a poolside party, things began to slide again. This change was most notably marked by the explosive vomiting that covered Erin’s clothing and most of the hotel sofa in a silty mix of formula and baby food.
Calls were made to housekeeping for more crib sheets, more towels, and a crack duo of employees to scrub furiously at the mess that covered the couch.
The rest of the night was spent awake in the king-sized bed, tensed and ready to spring at the slightest hint of the liquid, squelching, horrible sound of our dwindling supply of clean jammas being soiled.
Friday and Saturday were spent in this tightly-wound, ready state. Erin had been wise enough to bring some extra clothing for the little fire-hose of poo, but not nearly enough to handle what we were experiencing. We were setting out for home on Saturday, and we were able to salvage about 4 outfits for the trip home, which included a 2.5 hour ride in a rented car and car seat, and an equally long flight.
Car trip was uneventful. We arrived at the airport with a very mellow, but clean-diapered baby. Erin successfully managed to fit the towel into the onesie, as an extra layer or two of terry-cloth protection from anything that would happen on the plane itself.
And the towel was defeated about an hour into the flight.
Erin bravely changed the mess in the tiny airplane bathroom and returned to the cramped center seat.
10 minutes later, the first spare outfit fell.
Again, Erin replaced both diaper and clothing, and returned to her seat.
10 minutes later, the second spare outfit was overrun.
And finally, with a half-hour yet to go in the flight back to Minneapolis, the third and final clean outfit succumbed to the brown tide. These last 30 minutes were spent in a wretched cloud of baby diarrhea smell. With nothing to do but wrap her in a blanket, we covered the last few hundred miles, and landed.
Waiting for our bags was a terrible experience. Both because we were all very tired, and some of us stewing in our own foul juices, and because we could do nothing but think of the future days of conflict with the brown warrior that lay ahead of us. And this time…we’d have no housekeeping service to whom we could place late night calls for help.
We’ve been home for going on 3 days now, and just today, have things shown any sign of relenting. The kid’s been getting plenty of fluids, she’s got most of her appetite, so she’s been eating plenty, and aside from a horrible case of diaper rash, she’s doing well enough. The washing machine, the handsoap, and the Desetin have all been put to the test these past few days. Not to mention Mom and Dad.
Who will give out first? Baby’s rebellious GI tract? Or her parents’ willingness to wade ankle deep into the muck? Thankfully, today it looks like we’re going to come out on top this time.