Tag Archives: shit

Trick or Turd

21 Oct

how pumpkin pie is really made...One of the joys of having kids is developing your own holiday traditions with them.  My favorite Halloween tradition we enjoy with her is taking her to the Riverbanks Zoo for an event festively dubbed “Boo at the Zoo.” This year my four-year-old Phoebe decided to go as a rainbow fairy.  While she danced to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” I tried to shake off the creepiness of a hundred little kids dancing while Michael Jackson was singing by remembering the first time we came to Boo at the Zoo with her.

She was Yoda that year, and a young Jedi-in training she was.  Trick-or-treating didn’t do anything for her yet, as she was still mastering that toddler gait that looks oddly similar to the wobble of a drunken dwarf.  As it turns out, that same wobble also passes for incredible choreography if observed in a certain context.

Our little Yoda was drawn to the DJ booth and the disco lights.  “The Monster Mash,” the “One-Eyed One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater.”  She was a dancing machine.  My husband and I rallied around little Phoebe and clapped for her as only first-time parents stupefied by their own child’s cuteness can.  We looked like idiots and we didn’t care.  These were Kodak moments Damnit!  Then “Thriller” came on.  She was amazing.  She was lifting moves from the classic video like she’d been rehearsing it for all of her very short life.  Picture a sixteen-month-old in a deep horse-riding stance, bobbing her head, arms akimbo, perfecting executing the dance moves of the King of Pop and his legion of pop-locking zombies.

I was proud in this moment.  I thought to myself, “she’s going to go pro one day.”

And then we smelled it.  Subtle, at first.  But then a pungent punch in the face.

“Do you smell shit?” my husband shouted in my ear above the din of the Vincent Price solo.

I did.

Phoebe wasn’t a dancing genius.  She had just filled her diaper past capacity.  For a second I wondered if the choreographer told the dancers on the Thriller set to pretend there was an enormous dump in their pants.  But only for a second.  Everyone within a five yard radius of Yoda could smell that the Force was strong with her.

It was cold that night, and it took several minutes to peel the layers of sweaters and tights that shielded the Yoda costume from the poop, and poop there was.  Loads.  It was of the explosive variety that leaps from a diaper at high velocity, rides up a child’s neck and puddles in a funky sludge in the feet of socks.  It defied gravity and logic. Poor little Yoda screamed throughout the ordeal.  I mustered up some serious willpower to refrain from crying myself.  I used up every baby wipe and tissue in my possession to wipe the slime from my baby.  Her tights, her t-shirt and her sweater were all relegated to the trash, may they rest in peace.

It took me so long to clean her up and find my husband again on the dance floor that the DJ was playing “Thriller” again.  I guess there are only so many Halloween songs out there semi-appropriate for family-friendly events.  Despite the diaper-change from Hell, I still burst out laughing as Jackson delivered the first lines of the song:

“It’s close to midnight, and something evil’s lurkin’ in the dark.”

No kidding.  That was some evil, other-worldly shit.

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