I'm not a monkey at the zoo.

So the other night, after a nice dinner, we're all playing in the living room, when Mason makes "the face".  We know what this face means. This face means "leave me alone so I can do my business". This face means "I'm trying really hard right now". But on this particular night, "the face" seemed to go on for a bit longer than normal, but nothing crazy - or at least so we thought. Little did we know this would become the most memorable diaper change in history.

It was the hubs' turn to do the change, so he and Mason headed up to Mason's room.  After a minute or so, I hear him yell "a little HELP please" down the stairs. In my head, I'm like, "Really? You really need help changing Mason's diaper?". It wasn't until half way up that I started to smell the foul odor. Nothing could prepare me for what happened next. I entered Mason's room and saw him laying happily on the changing table (I guess you'd be happy too if you had just pooped the world's largest poop), the hubs' face was covered with his own shirt (to stop him from gagging) and there was poop everywhere. On the hubs' shirt, all the way down Mason's leg, on his socks, on the changing table, everywhere. It was a massive blow-out. So as the hubs was holding Mason still to prevent the spreading of poop, I tried to get his pants and onesie off without smearing poop onto his face and hair. In my careful haste, one pant-leg got caught on something, and like a rubberband being stretched and released, sprang back into the opposite direction flinging poop ALL OVER THE WALL. It would have made Jackson Pollock proud. The hubs and I just looked at one another and started laughing hysterically. Actually, I was the one in hysterics. He just kind of chuckled and was all, GET A GRIP WOMAN AND HELP ME GET THIS CHILD INTO THE BATH!

Oh man, it was awesome. Especially because I wasn't the one stuck cleaning the wall.