Mom’s diaper blowout photo is a moment every parent is familiar with
Whether you had a vaginal birth, a c-section or became a parent through adoption, if you feed your baby formula or breastfeed, no matter what your opinions are on sleep training or pacifiers or even vaccinations there is one part of parenting we all universally despise — the diaper blowout. All dirty diapers are well, shitty, but every now and then you get a particularly awful one, the kind that leaks down into your baby’s socks and up into their hair at the same time. The diaper who’s scent lingers in the house like a ghost, and you can still smell it long after you’ve bathed, done the laundry, scrubbed the couch cushions and lit a candle.
Ester Anderson knows exactly what we’re talking about. The mom recently shared a pooptastic photo to her Facebook page, Story of This Life of a moment every parent knows all to well.
Second blow out of the day, and let me tell you…this one wasn’t nearly as bad as this morning’s. Let’s just say Ellia might go back into her pull-ups for tonight
It sucks when you’re in the splashzone like she was. You know you’re going to worry about cleaning the baby first, so you’re going to be cold, clammy and very, very smelly by the time you finally get to tend to your own needs. Ah, the joys of motherhood.
Since Anderson shared her brutally honest image, it’s gathered over 13,000 likes and reactions. Because we’ve all been there, including me.
My twin boys have had some horrific diaper blowouts: once while we were in a theme park and our then 18-month-old was strapped into a baby carrier on my husband’s chest and the time both boys blew out their diapers in the car so I carried both car seats upstairs and into the shower with a still healing c-section scar to get everyone cleaned off.
But the hands down worst diaper experience of my life was the day my son had a diaper blow out at the airport.
My kids were a year old and were headed away for a much needed family vacation. While we arrived at the airport with hours to spare, there had been cancelled flights the day before, and lines were much longer than anyone expected. By the time we got to the front of the security line there were only 20 minutes before our flight was scheduled to take off. And that’s when I smelled it. The unmistakable odor of a diaper that’s gone horribly wrong. I scooped up one baby in my left arm and there was nothing squelchy under his butt, so I hoped maybe someone in line behind us had just let out a really awful fart. But then I grabbed my other little guy and as his bottom settled against my forearm I felt something start to drip towards my elbow. Warm, wet, and the reason we might miss our flight.
The angel of a man working the metal detector must be a dad, or he at least had a nose because he waved me through quickly. I tossed my husband the clean baby and a package of Wet Ones to deal with the mess in the stroller, grabbed the stink bomb and sprinted to the bathroom. Nine minutes to take off. Maybe we could do this.
I used an entire package of wipes and travel-sized bottle of Purell getting him cleaned up and luckily I had a spare pair of clothes in the diaper bag. He had managed to get poop in between his toes, which was both impressive and disgusting. Women who came in to use the restroom kept giving me mean looks and wrinkling their noses, but I didn’t have time to apologize for the mess and smell or get self-righteous about babies being allowed to poop, because I had a plane to catch (Though to the custodian who had to throw out that trash later, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry).
While I rushed like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep, by the time we came out of the bathroom it was six minutes after our flight was supposed to leave. Luckily the diaper gods were on my side that day. Since the airport was so busy, we weren’t the only ones late getting to the gate. Take off was delayed so we managed to barely make our flight.
But ever since then, every time I walk into an airport bathroom I swear I can still feel something warm trickling down my arm.