Some babies are born to sleep, some to scream, and some to eat. Anya was born to poop. Neither of my previous two children had quite the nack for filling their diaper, or rather for missing it. In ten minutes I have changed four diapers and three outfits. All three outfits covered in giant bright yellow poop stains.
This morning she crabbed a little sighed, smiled and then gave a grunty squirt. She relaxed against me then, snuggling into my shoulder. I felt something warm on my stomach.
Having once again defied the laws of human excrement toward mass relationship, I discovered poop leaking out of her diaper, down the leg of her outfit. It stained my shirt, and completely soaked the front of my pants. It coated the pillow cover on my lap. I rushed her to the bathroom and stripped her and myself. That is when I found two surprises.
First, there was less than a one inch square section of the diaper covered in poop. How that little poop went into the diaper, and that much ended up all over I will never know.
Second, my underwear was soaked with baby poop.
Changed and wrapped in a new outfit, Anya was happy and sleepy.
I still feel like taking a shower, only three is a bit excessive. I do believe my daughter is a master eliminator.