Let me first start this tale of terror with a small note about the development of my son. My parents and sister were in town this weekend and they taught Caleb to point his finger. It was so funny. My mom started pointing at Caleb and he just pointed right back. My sister would point…and Caleb would point back…my dad would point…and Caleb would point back. It was so much fun. Now when Caleb points to me, I sometime playfully bite his finger (this is important later in the story).
Now we can progress to the scary part…
Allison had to work today and after my parents went home, that left Caleb and me to fend for ourselves. We do this a lot. I am used to it...One can say I actually enjoy it a little bit. HOWEVER, today around 5:00 Caleb was being very fussy. I warmed up a bottle of the good stuff and he drank it down like a champ. In addition to the bottle, I fed him some baby food. We got a little messy with that endeavor, so logically I thought I would give my son a bath.
As an aside, one should know that Caleb’s bathtime in our household is my job. I would say that I give him a bath at least 5 out of 7 days a week. This is not a new thing to me. HOWEVER, what transpired this evening was definitely a first.
When I removed Caleb’s diaper in preparation of his bath, I noticed that he had pooped. “No big deal,” I thought. I will just rinse him off in the bath, then dump the water, and start fresh. It is at this moment when this story takes a turn.
I did rinse the offensive substance from the backside of my son. I did remove him from the bath, naked as the day he was born, and stood him by the edge of the tub and proceeded to dump the “baby tub” to drain the unpleasant water down the drain. As soon as I dumped the water, I saw the small, dainty, ever-so-delicate wash cloth pour from the baby tub and down the drain of the big bath tub!....GASP!
The only thing going through my mind was the plumber and his kids that we would be putting through college as he tried to fish this stupid washcloth out from the bowels of the 68 year old drains in this money pit of a house.
Because my reflexes are cat-like and I have “mad skills”, I was able to grab hold of a tiny sliver of the washcloth with my pointer finger and middle finger, thus preventing a plumbing catastrophe.
Let me describe the scene…I am bent over the edge of the bathtub with two fingers of my left hand shoved down the drain of the tub holding gingerly to a washcloth that is seconds from clogging the only tub we have in our home. My right hand is holding on to the arm of my naked son as he is standing next to me trying to get into whatever mischief is at his fingertips.
I begin to wonder how long my wife will be at work. Can I hold this position for the next 3 hours? Will the water that is trying to push the washcloth further down the drain ever stop flowing? As I am desperately trying to inch the washcloth out of the drain, I let go of my son and leave him to walk along the wall of the bathroom untethered. I am racking my brain trying to solve the problem. The water is still standing 3 or 4 inches in the tub and trying to push the washcloth further down the drain. I can do nothing but keep gathering the fabric with the two fingers hoping that I can stop the cloth from slipping further. After about 2 minutes (an eternity) of struggling with the drain, I hear my son giggling like a schoolgirl. He is pointing his finger right at me. It is almost as if he is laughing at me. Then I realize he just wants to play. I lean over to playfully bite his finger, but before I do, I thankfully look over and there smeared on the wall of the bathroom is poop! OH MY GOSH…there is poop on the floor, there is poop on his leg, there is a pile of poop on the end of his foot like the little cotton puff on elves shoes! Oh and let me not forget to tell you, but there is poop on the finger that he is pointing directly in my face! I almost vomited right then and there!
I cannot tell you what allowed me to do this, but I quickly grabbed Caleb, put him poop and all in the baby bathtub (still in the big bathtub), and then put my right hand back down the drain and grabbed the end of the washcloth. I lost all ground I had previously accomplished, but at least the poop and my son are now contained in the baby bathtub. Caleb is having a marvelous time. He is thinking this is a game or something. He stands directly up in the bathtub, with no help from me and proceeds to involuntarily pee all over my hand that is down the drain. I almost vomited right then and there, again!
I do not know how I did it. In fact, I do not think I did it at all. I think it was divine intervention removed that washcloth from that drain. It had to be divine intervention that allowed me to hold on to my boy (poop and all) and yank that stupid washcloth from its watery grave.
I threw that washcloth across the room. I immediately turned on the handheld shower and firehosed Caleb to remove any trace of manure left on him, the tub, and me. We then started all over with the bath. I don’t think I have ever scrubbed the boy more than I did in that bath. After he was dried off and put in pajamas, I put him in his bouncy seat and went back to survey the damages.
I chose not to describe the scene in detail, but needless to say I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floors and walls to remove all traces of what my son left behind.
How could one little boy and one little washcloth cause so much trouble?
The boy…
The bathroom (don’t worry it’s clean)…
The bathtub and drain…
The offending washcloth…
