Woog had a particularly difficult night last night...so much so that three capable adults were draggin ass this morning because of it. I suspected gas, but even after a dose of Mylacon, his tummy pains didn't subside. At 6 am after much rocking, I decided to put him in the tub with me thinking it would sooth his little belly.
Stinky toots abounded...even he was distracted by the smell, putting his chubby hand to his nose and breathing out.
All was going well. Woog played contentedly with his boat of Cuban refugees (a walrus, a seahorse, a couple of spoons, an octopus and cappuccino scooper/press thingy)- then, quite suddenly he stood up and came to sit in my lap. And like a Ron-Co noodle extractor, began pooing out the contents of his disagreeable bowels right into the potty-like hole of my crossed legs. Yea...I felt it.
Not quite finished, he stood and immediately began "dunking" his butt into the water so as to eliminate the poo tail he was still sporting.
PANIC.
I removed the toys and jumped up and out of the tub...heel sliding to grab my robe and a towel. In the short time it took me to cram in an arm, Woog was clawing for a floating LOG. I snagged him in time and drained the tub leaving the corny remains for Big Daddy to deal with.
Needless to say, the boy was feeling much better although, it has taken me a better part of the day to forget the feeling of poo being pooed onto my leg.
Ewe for Poo!
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