Memoirs Of J

If there was an award for the person with the most sensitivity to bad odors, I think I would win it… easily.

Tonight, J shuffled over to me with a pained expression on her face to tell me that she “tooted, then pooped” in her pants.  Not really news to me since any conscious person within a 40 foot perimeter would have not only cringed at the faint grunts she was making in the corner, but would have sniffed the wafts of horror that were shooting out of her ass at that moment.

I knew she had filled her pants before she told me, of course. I was just waiting for the grunts to cease before doing anything about it.  You’d think that because we’re in the process of toilet training I would have rushed her to the pot and let her at least partially shit into it.  That would be reasonable, except last time I tried that I ended up catching a warm mushy turd in my bare hand.  I’m a little more cautious now, is all I’m saying.

After she told me she was done, I told her to meet me in the bathroom since it was time for a bath anyway.  I grabbed a pile of wipes, sighed, and tried to prepare myself by taking a couple of slow deep breaths in the hallway.  She was lying down on her towel waiting patiently for me to remove the mess.  I took her socks off, then her pants.  I looked at her and said, “You know, you really need to start telling me before you poop so you can sit on the potty.”  She just laughed and said, “No, silly!”

Sighing again, I peeled back the adhesives on both sides of her diaper.  I handled it well at first, despite that enourmous black chunky spattering weighing down the diaper and sticking all over her cheeks in smelly gobs.  I was holding my breath but couldn’t hold it for long enough.  I fumbled around with my left hand trying to pull my shirt up over my face, while holding her legs up with my other hand to keep her from spreading this atrocity all over her Minnie Mouse towel.

It’s really hard to get a v-neck shirt to stay put on your face.  By ‘really hard,’ I mean impossible.  By this time my eyes are watering and I’m audibly gagging and heaving.  She’s giggling as I hastily swipe at her shit-covered ass with a fistful of butt wipes.  She starts mocking me by fake coughing and fake gagging.  I am not amused but am too focused on keeping my dinner down to admonish her for doing this.

After a couple of swipes, I deemed it ‘clean enough,’ wrapped up the defiled diaper and stumbled out of the room.  My vision was clouded in tears and vomit was on the cusp of exploding out of my throat.  After the toxic waste was safely contained in the diaper genie, I took another really deep slow breath and sat down to gain my composure and make sure I wasn’t going to barf all over myself.  This took maybe three minutes, then I headed back to the bathroom  to finish getting her undressed and in the tub.

When I entered the room I found that she had taken it upon herself to hop into the tub, shirt and all.  “What are you doing?” I said, “We don’t wear clothes in the bath!”  She of course responded by giggling and calling me silly.