Not for the Faint of Stomach

I put the Little Man down for his nap last Friday, as usual. Also as usual, he didn't go down easily, or quietly, and was still protesting when I shut the door and told him I'd see him when he woke up. Not usual - but pivotal - was that he was wearing only a diaper at the time. Not because he suddenly had a need to go a little WT, but because he had totally trashed his clothes at the park.

After a bit I heard actual crying intermixed with the whining and protesting that was trickling from his room, so I went up to investigate. And, oh my. OH my. Ewwwww doesn't even come close. (and those with a weak stomach, you'll want to stop reading RIGHT HERE)

I walked into the room, which reeked. The Little Man was laying in his big boy bed, crying, covered in crap. Oh yes, literally (shudder). I actually had to grab him by the shoulder for the march to the tub because it was one of the few clean spots I could find.

As much as I can piece together, he decided that it was time for a nice BM, and that going in his diaper was overrated. So, he stripped down and did his thing in the corner. On the carpet. Then, because hey, why not, he RAN A GIANT DUMP TRUCK THROUGH IT. Apparently he then tried to clean it (or himself) off with his hands, climbed the ladder and got into the top bunk of his bed, came back down and crawled under the covers in the lower bunk. And then, only then, did he decide that he did not like being covered in poo so much and began to cry.

WHAT THE FUCK.

All I can say is thank God for Clorox wipes, carpet shampooers and washing machines. If it weren't for them I would have had to cut his room off the house and let it just fall into the yard. 'Cause, DAMN people. Cleaning little boy crap out of the treads of a giant dump truck is NOT for the weak-kneed.

I truly hope this is a one-time-only precursor to interest in potty training. There just HAS to be a silver lining.