. . . and then there was pickle.

Recently I was hanging out with Mya's Mommy, Mya, and Ryan. During the visit I had such a horrific poop experience that I must make an immediate addition to my online catalogue of vileness.

The Pickle was in Mya's swing when she expressed her desire to no longer be in the swing - I picked her up.

What happened next was bad.

Apparently the poop (because yes, there was poop) had found a way to completely bypass both diaper and onesy, but stick to her leg - just long enough for me to pick her up and cradle her butt. At which point - I ended up with a handful of shit. Her first carrot shit - in my hand.

Now this is primarily my fault. To quote Ryan, "I was worried when I saw your daughter in those hot pants."

See, several months ago I begged to have a couple of nice onesies that actually fit her at the time. For some reason everyone gave us clothes for 6 month olds with the idea that she would soon outgrow anything for either 0-3 or 3-6 M. Well, the problem with that theory is that I spent the first two months of her life calming her crying fit as I attempted to put one leg back into the pajama leg it was supposed to be in - instead of the one where both legs had ended up.

To alleviate this, I begged Mya's Mommy and my mom one day when we were group shopping at The Disney Store for some cute onesies for 0-3 M. To show my appreciation and the value of these outfits - I have continued to dress her in them well past the reasonable point where they actually fit.

Thus the 'hot pant' reference. Well, as she sat in the swing - she had apparently maneuvered her anus in such a fashion to completely circumvent the restraint any diaper or 'hot pant' would put on her impending poopage.

This is when she made launch.

What confuses me is how the poop could stick only momentary to her leg. Because the instant I touched her it immediately released into my open palm. All of it. I had a handful. My screams of horror were heard in the kitchen where the grown-ups were, and Ryan was sent to help - despite his silent protestations.

He held The Pickle, in the classic Nicolas Cage, Raising Arizona, arms out, head turned away fashion whilst I got myself into a capacity to be able to clean up the pickle (i.e. scraped the poop off my hand).

I then had to instruct Ryan as to which way to turn the baby so that I could wet wipe her down to the point where we could remove her hot pants. The reason I had to give directions is that Ryan refused to look anywhere near The Pickle or her orange stained legs.

This was problematic.

When we finally got her onto the changing pad and freed her of her Daisy Dukes - There was not an ounce of poop in her Diady.

And this, Ladies and Gentlemen just goes to show - If you dress your daughter like a whore . . . you're gonna end up with a handful of shit in public.

Pickle's Papa