Blowout

Kids are cute by design. The good Lord makes them that way, I'm convinced, so that we'll love them no matter how gross and disgusting they truly are. If all babies were ugly, they would be left to fend for themselves the first time they peed on Dad or spit up all over the couch. But their inherent cuteness combined with their pristine innocence packs a one-two punch strong enough to overcome even their most repulsive accidents.

Nothing shocks me anymore. The sight of half chewed food rolling out of the mouth of one of my toddlers is commonplace and expected. Sometimes I think they just want to see what it looks like in it's ABC stage (Already Been Chewed) before they complete the mastication process. To watch my son lift his diaper and pee on the floor only fills me with pride to know that he has already realized the joy that comes from peeing while standing, an emotion that his sister may never enjoy. But there is one thing that always amazes me whenever it occurs: the blowout.
Not to get too scatological, but the blowout is defined by a presence of poop at least six inches from the point of exit. It can go in any direction at any time; down the leg and up the back being the most common. How it escapes the diaper is beyond me. It's like Houdini in a straitjacket locked inside a trunk underwater. You just can't believe it got out of there. Removing a toddler's pants to reveal a brown smear almost to the knee is quite a surprise indeed.

My personal favorite is the up the back variety. Newtonian physics cannot explain such a strange phenomenon. Or can it? If every action creates an equal and opposite reaction, then the poop exiting the toddler in a downward fashion can only turn in an upward direction when encountering the resistance of a size five Huggie. It is inevitable that with enough force, the elastic barrier of the diaper will fail like the levees of New Orleans, spilling feces into the ninth ward of my precious daughter's lower back, thus proving the existence of dark matter. I always did like physics.

I have seen plenty of videos of less manly Dads with their gag reflexes triggered by foul excrement. This, I am proud to say, has never happened to me. I have dealt with many colors, textures, densities, fragrances, and amounts of poo and have never once tossed my cookies as a result. I have wiped it from the cracks and crevices of my children for nearly two years without incident. Oh, sure, I've gotten some on me, and sometimes the smell is akin to mustard gas, bringing tears to your eyes, but I soldier on. From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, tell your friends and spread the rumor that no poop's too great for me!