Vagina + poop = this morning.

We are sick. All four of us are either coughing, dipping snot fountains, shitting our pants, or just wallowing in being unwell. And two of us are teething. Molars.

If you are reading this and have twins under a year old, or are pregnant with twins, let me offer you my special brand of commiseration for this special time you will one day have: molar time. We’re talking Superboy* screaming for 3.5 hours two nights ago, though Batgirl* is also kicking up a major storm.

*Names changed to protect the innocent.

This morning as I was staring blankly into space, my brain filled with unhappy concrete, TMD carried Batgirl in. And not just Batgirl, but the smell of her ass.

‘I need to change her,’ TMD said. ‘Superboy is still asleep.’

I dragged myself out of bed and hobbled, naked, into the lounge. I made sure he was still sleeping and collapsed weakly onto the ground. Meanwhile, I hear TMD saying things like ‘Sweet Jesus, this is horrible. This is the worst poop ever. Oh, make it stop.’

She finally brings Batgirl back into the room. Superboy is still fast asleep.

Batgirl crawls over to the toy chest and walks back and forth, back and forth between the chest and a tall toy. She is pumping Bunny up and down in the air and singing a little tune. I’m watching with a smile on my face.

Then – out of nowhere – she begins crying. Screaming, really. I’m wondering if she stubbed her toe, if it was the bastard molars again, etc. I go over to her and sit down, pulling her onto my lap. Keep in mind I’m still naked. We’re not naturists, but we’re pretty fucking relaxed about bodies.

So, I’m crooning to her, ‘What’s wrong, oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?’ while gently rocking.

Suddenly her screams reach a new pitch, her body stiffens, and AN ASS EXPLOSION happens. She’s had diarrhea/soft newborn poop for a few days (unheard of – she’s a solid litle pooper), but the roiling bubbling hot noise of explosion? Not heard in our house since the days of newborndom.

I feel my lap get hot. I should say I’m not too worried about leaks, though her runny poops have been leaking. No, her diarrhea is hot, and when it’s fresh it’s like she’s not wearing a nappy, but more like a heating pad strapped to her ass.

TMD somehow managed to not hear the canon booms of the ASS EXPLOSION, so I call her attention to it. She comes over to pick up Batgirl, and as Batgirl stands up, I notice a pool of steaming diarrhea on our beautiful carpet. I am struck speechless, until I notice wet poop is sickly sliding down her leg and one foot is in the middle of the mess on the floor.

TMD takes her off for a bath, while I am still sitting cross-legged, staring down at the world’s largest inland freshwater poop pool.

It’s then that I notice the runny, stinking shit isn’t just on the floor. It’s on me. My vagina, more specifically.

And while my bikini line normally brings to mind a sexy Latina with out-of-control hair and a shocking lack of grooming, today it’s different.

With the poop coating my bikini line, clinging to each hair, it looks like the bikini line of a mud coloured Muppet.

And the smell, dear god the smell. So I crouched above the floor, scraping diarrhea off the carpet – which is very different from cleaning it off a cute baby bottom, let me tell you – and trying to ignore the fact that my lady area is covered in someone else’s shit.

Superboy woke up in time to look at me with real confusion as I was scrubbing the floor naked. And then two seconds after laughing at me, he began to scream in pain, gesturing at his mouth.

Oh, yes, never let anyone tell you our house is not awesome. It’s so awesome I may start selling tickets to the people lined up and down the street, wanting to come partake in the awesomeness with us. Lucky you, you get to read about it for free.

Tags: bodily functions, parenthood