PSA: Parents, Please diaper your babies.

It is a well-known fact that when a baby, who is not yet potty trained, roams around the house commando, that baby will inevitably have to go to the bathroom. It simply can’t wait. It won’t wait.

Such was the case at the O’Nan household last night. Upon giving our littlest a bath, I dried her off and let that baby run free, if only to watch her naked bum run in the opposite direction. (Too much information? Sorry ‘bout it. But I get the feeling that other mothers will feel me on this.) As I proceeded to clean up the swamp bathroom, I could hear the typical pre-bedtime mayhem of a domineering big sister oppressing a feisty and vulnerably naked little sister. And then I heard nothing. Suddenly, Tristan was behind me, and she had her hand held out to me. There was clearly something on it that she wanted to show. I think we can all gather where this is going: The kid had crapped and not within the cotton-fibery confines of a cheap but functional Walmart diaper.

“Tim! Tristan just pooped somewhere!” I bellowed out from the bathroom. “Find it!”

We proceeded gingerly, expecting to come upon a neat little pile, much like a dog would make. But we were not dealing with a dog. We were dealing with a baby, who, much like a puppy, has little regard for furniture, carpet, remotes, or valuables of any kind. I found the bulk of it in the playroom. Situation handled. Except not. What I didn’t realize at the time was that as we were “handling” the situation there, she was going from room to room dropping her calling card.

At the final tally, she stink bombed three separate rooms. Impressive really, for such a small person.

During the initial commotion, I couldn't help laughing. I know better than to let this kid run around unclothed for long. She has a long and storied history of pottying, as it were, wherever she pleases. As Tristan was running in the opposite direction of her crimes and Tim was shouting something along the lines of “Sweet Lord! Someone get that kid in a diaper,” Lilly was standing calmly in the kitchen. As Tristan streaked by her, Lilly just smiled and said, “Sissy, it’s okay. It’s just the way God made you!”

Yes, Lillian. On some basic, fundamental level, you are correct. God did create our digestive systems to function in such a way as this, and, strictly speaking, Sissy’s body was just doing what it does, exactly as God intended. Sadly, your parents have very little foresight, which means that when your sister is just doing what she does, we are running around behind her with a towel, 409, and a garden hose.

Will it add to this story to inform you that all of this happened just minutes before we received a call from an adoption agency that we had reached out to for information? Because it did. (Although after she explained that the process could exceed $45,000, a little poop on the carpet seemed to be the least of my concerns…) Perhaps in another life we were meant to have more babies. Not so much in this one I think.

She thinks she's hilarious. 

J.