It's happened with every single one of our six kids. Still, every time it happens it grosses me out to the point of gagging, pregnant or not.
Ella is at the stage now that no matter what she eats she manages to smear it all over her body such that no washcloth can dare make a dent in her sloppiness. Typically after breakfast and lunch she requires a quick bath to scrub off all the sticky.
Earlier this week, I plopped her in the tub, added some bubbles and went back into the kitchen to quickly wipe off her booster seat and the table where she had fingerpainted with her Cocoa Puffs.
Approximately 1.5 minutes later I walk back into the bathroom and begin scooping full cups of soapy bubbly water over her head so that we could wash and continue with our day. About 3 scoops in, the bubbles part like the Red Sea and there is a turd. Chillin' on the bottom of the tub like Pharaoh's army. Ew. Ew. Ew.
Not only have I submerged my own hands into the poop water but I've also washed my child in bubbly poop water.
Not good.
I take my naked 18 month old out of the tub, stand her on the rug and drain the tub. I clear the debris out of the tub then realize I need some cleanser to clean out any hidden debris. I decide that I'd rather not have my naked, soaking wet, poop-washed baby sprinting through the house, so like a good mother, I close the bathroom door behind me and sprint down the hall to the kitchen to grab some Castile soap.
Soap and brush in hand, I dash back to the bathroom. My hand rests upon the door knob yet I am unable to turn it.
My sweet, darling, naked, slimy, poop-water covered 18 month old has LOCKED THE BATHROOM DOOR. I should have known. Pushing buttons is her new hobby.
"Ella!" I yell, "Ella! Unlock the door!" I jiggle the doorknob.
From the other side of the door I hear, "Eeeewa! Eeeewa! Ubba daaa!" as her pudgy little fingers rattle the doorknob, mocking my every move.
I knock on the door. "Ella," I say more softly, "open the door Sissy."
To my surprise, I hear her say, more softly, "Eeeeewa, ubbbba daaa ssssssss," as she gently knocks back to me the same rhythm I just tapped out to her.
This copycat knocking and jiggling of door handles continues for the next 3 or so minutes until I realize that my darling, naked, poopy-water covered child, who knows how to open doors and has done so many, many, many times against my better wishes, is NOT opening the door any time soon.
And why should she? I mean, what more fun is it than a game of copy cat with an hysterical Mommy?
I grab my car keys, praying our house key somehow fits the lock of the bathroom. It doesn't but it does manage to turn the knob just enough that I hear the click of the lock popping out the other side of the door.
I push the door open and find my slimy, naked, smiling babe standing beside the tub, bottle of bubbles in her hand, looking at me wondering why in the heck it's taken me so long to get back in the bathroom.
Y'all, it's never a dull moment around here. Ever.