Friday, September 12, 2014

The Great Poodini, A Guest Post by Liv of Live by Surprise

Please pull up a chair and enjoy my amazing guest blogger.....Liv of Live By Surprise!


The Great Poodini
by Liv of Live by Surprise

My son is 14 months old.  He's (finally) started talking in the past few weeks.  He's just on the brink of walking.  Some might say that he's a little slow.  A little behind.  To them I say - you have not experienced the full extent of his talents.

And now...I give you...the great Poodini!!

That's right.  My son is behind in learning to talk and walk because he's been mastering the art of illusion.  You heard me - my son has harnessed supernatural powers the likes of which the world has never seen.

Let me set the scene.  After a full fourteen months leave, I returned to work the day after Labor Day.  It was a normal day, by all accounts.  Bae's first full day in daycare.  Slightly different than his siblings first day in daycare - as Bae is my third, I didn't experience the roller coaster of emotions I felt the last two times.  Having visited the day care twice before, Bae practically leapt from my arms to play with his new found friends.  I wasn't worried.  Bae has been an easy child - no issues with making strange, happily perfectly comfortable being handed to just about anyone since he was born.

And the first day went well by all accounts.  I called after lunch to make sure there weren't any issues - they said he'd had a walk and a nap and was playing happily.

I picked him up at the end of the day - and he was happy to see me, not upset about leaving. The day care gave me a list of his diaper changes, naps, and the foods he ate.  As I got in the car, I remarked to Hubs that he had clearly eaten very well.  At 14 months, the amount of food they'd listed was more than his six year old sister normally consumes in a day.  And he'd had breakfast at home - and wanted dinner when we ate that evening.

It should be no surprise, although it wasn't a concern at the time, that Bae had a demon brewing in his belly.   
I fed him a full supper with a cup of milk.  We played a bit before I, bathed him, and changed him into a white onesie that buttoned at the crotch with his diaper underneath. He's always been a good sleeper, just like his siblings, and it was an uneventful night.  

In the morning, I got up early, no inkling of what awaited me.  I had a shower, put on make up and got dressed.  I got Bae's brother and sister up to brush their teeth, hair and get dressed.  As the older two were going into the bathroom, I put my hand on the metal doorknob to Bae's room, opening it quickly.  I'd heard him stirring, so I wasn't afraid I'd startle him.  

I was immediately hit by a wall of smell.   

I'm not talking about an "Uh oh, mommy's got a stinky diaper to change."  It was more of a "Oh my F----N----G.  I have opened the gates to hell and am surely going to shortly meet whomever is St. Peter's equivalent within the next few moments."

I muttered a few choice words that would have impressed said equivalent.  I took a step back, my hand still on the doorknob, turning my head away, in order to compose myself, take a clean breath  and stick my tongue at the back of my throat so I didn't choke as I entered. I turned the light on.  There was my smiling, happy baby, standing up in the corner of his crib.  He was completely unaffected by the horrible stench.  He was bubbling, cooing and reaching for me. His white onesie absolutely pristine.  I continued holding my breath as I surveyed the crib for evidence of a diaper breach.  

Nothing.  Phew.

I took a quick short breath, careful not to inhale through my nose. And I stepped around the crib to the front reaching my hands out for my smiling baby

...and right into a great big slippery pile of brown sulphurous slime.  

I dropped my hands to the side of the crib to steady myself, involuntarily inhaling a great big whiff of that which would surely kill a blind man with his enhanced sense of smell. Out came a few more choice words that would have made said equivalent's boss blush. I looked down again at my pristine baby, smiling still in the crib, now playing with my fingers. Nothing on his onesie.  Nothing at all. I looked closer at the crib.  A very minute amount of brown goo on the crib slats and sheet immediately in front of my foot.  

I yelled down to my husband for bleach, and maybe some accelerant and a match.  

I hopped on (luckily) my good, still clean foot all the way to the bathroom and put my contaminated foot into the sink to rinse it off.  I took some very deep, good clean breaths.  I wasn't sure if I hadn't been able to clean my foot, maybe I'd splashed it on my clothes or maybe the smell was starting to invade the rest of the house.  I shouted at Hubs (who by now was in full bleach/fire mode on the floor) to open the window as I towelled off my foot.

I steeled myself and headed back into the room.  From the door (as Hubs was still scrubbing the floor) I gingerly lifted Bae out of his crib and onto the change table.  I marvelled aloud - nothing on his legs.  His diaper had some goo in it.  But in it.  Not around it.  Not outside it.  All contained.  I undressed him and gave him a bath anyway - hoping that the smell would dissipate - so I could tell whether I needed to change my own clothing.  I'd done a quick exam and not found any noticeable issues.  
In the end, after getting everything cleaned up, sheets washed, toys too - just in case,  I did change.  But the smell followed me for the rest of the day.  

Although I've pondered it for several days, I still have not been able to figure out how he was able to do it.  He's fourteen months old.  He doesn't have the dexterity in his hands to pick up cheerios one at a time let alone undo his onesie, take his diaper off and dump the contents onto the floor and then put it back on and replacing the snaps.  

I have no doubt he was responsible.  The door was closed.  There was evidence it came from him - and wasn't one of the dogs.  But I have no idea to this day how it happened.

And that my friends is why I have no worries about my son being "slow".  He's not "slow".  He's focusing on other talents. 

Talents that can clearly blow your mind.

Image courtesy of
Serge Bertasius /
Liv is the pseudonym for an inspirational woman who has lived and thrived through an emotionally abusive marriage, subsequent divorce and co-parenting issues, as well as multiple surgeries resulting from a horrible car accident. She now lives happily with her husband, three children and two dogs, and is determined to Live by Surprise and take things as they come. In addition to the Live by Surprise blog, Liv is also a contributor to You can follow her on Twitter, Google Plus, Pinterest, Instagram, and, of course, on Facebook.


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