She's living up to her brother's name.

My children have quite the reputation, even in their young age. Harrison has had 17 months to build up a name for himself, and quite the name for himself he's created. I've blogged about a few of the horrifying experiences he so kindly blessed me with here, here, here, here, and here. And even though 5 posts are 5 too many posts on the subject, there have been far more I've spared you from reading. You're quite welcome.

I thought the fact that he finds pleasure in humiliating me with his grossness was just a boy thing. Apparently I was wrong though, because Harper, even at only 10 days old, is quickly following in her brother's disgusting footsteps.


My children like to poop. Poop, and poop big. Nooo sir, not any ordinary poo will do for these two competitive turd masters. They have to be the best of the best, and I'm pretty sure they have succeeded at their goal. My husband is quite proud, by the way. Me on the other hand...while I commend their drive and ambition and competitive natures, I just can't seem to get past the sentiment of pure mortification.

Last night, Harper was all warm and snuggly in her fleece footy pajamas, wrapped up like a little burrito in her swaddling blanket. Somehow, to the disbelief of her nurse and everybody else who witnessed the aftermath, she achieved the diaper bomb record of the hospital. Not only did she explode out of her diaper, but she also somehow managed to poop with such force that it soaked through her thick fleece jams and blanket, and proceeded to splatter all over the clear walls of her isolette. How in the world that kind of energy came out of a wee little 4 lb. baby amazed pretty much everybody on the NICU floor. Her nurse said that in all of her years she'd never seen anything like it. And today, her day nurse informed me that she had dirtied yet another outfit and blanket, which "she's got a reputation for doing" in her words. Ha! Good thing she's the cutest little baby girl in the whole wide world!

And just maybe she's a smart cookie with a strategic agenda. You know, attack the nurses with enough poop bombs to clean up and they'll surrender and finally let her come home?  I like the sound of that. As long as she knows to stop once she's here and I'm on diaper duty.  ;)


Melanie said…
hahah--that made me laugh. The Boyd Bombs! Love it!
Tienna said…
Oh. My. Word. It must be something in either your genes, or Rickles, to cause such *cough* interesting things to happen. :) LOL - love it (aside from being totally grossed out, of course ;))!!

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