Alright now I know a lot of the women out there are saying to themselves “You’re an idiot, girls don’t poop out of their vaginas.” Well duh. I’m also sure there was at least one person that said “Girls don’t poop out their vaginas… right?” and if that is you then the school system has failed you haha. Well let’s get too it.
As you already know, I had my son first and then some time later my daughter came along. If you were to ask me which one I am better programmed to handle, I would easily say the boy. Being a man myself it should be rather clear that since I have taken care of my own bait and tackle for so many years, I would be able to guide my young man in how to manage his. Now my wife on the other hand was legit freaking out on how to handle our son and his Mr. Peepers. She would always ask me questions on how to tame the mini beast, how to keep it clean, or the best way to not get peed on. I remember at one point her trying to convince me that we needed to register for these wee wee cups that you put over the babies wee wee so if he did pee he would pee into the baby cup. I thought it was the dumbest shit that I had seen at that time. She asked what I was going to do if our son started to pee while getting his diaper changed and without skipping a beat I said “I’m just going to point his dingy back at him and he can pee on himself. He will learn early not to pee on daddy.” In the immortal words of Homey D. Clown “Homey don’t play that.” And as crazy as it sounds, my son never peed on me. Maybe it was just bro code but I never had any issues when changing his diaper. My wife on the other hand had hella problems with getting peed on, that shit happened on the regular in my house.
So what does all this have to do with my daughter and pooping? Nothing, just kind of a funny writing about my daughter and thinking about how easy it was with my son. Alright time to focus up, my daughter and pooping. I mean that is the real reason everyone is here, right? Let me just start off by saying “WTF”. I remember being in the hospital with my baby girl and smiling all the time, even when cleaning those nice little hospital poops. You know those nice hospital poops, the ones that are small and don’t smell like anything. You know the ones that all you have to do is give the butt a quick wipe and you are good to go. Life was good, life was easy, and I knew things would be status quo like it was with my son. No one prepared me for the ‘I’m in my own house poop.’ I don’t fancy myself to be easily rattled but I remember there being times where I felt like I was being set up. Like for real, someone was filling my daughters diaper with fake shit and then hiding in the closet laughing there ass off while I had to open that booby trap. What was hard to deal with was that I thought I was a beast already at changing diapers because of how easy it was with my son, but I soon learned this was all a façade. If you don’t have boys then you may not know that their (our) balls act like a sort of Gandolf for the poop (yes I know you are already thinking it), “You Shall Not Pass.” Our wang danglers stop the poop from traveling up into places that it does not need to be in. Girls (and I hope you already know this) don’t have balls, so when a girl poops in a diaper the poop can go wherever it wants to.
I find it difficult to think about the first real bomb that my daughter dropped on me after we finally brought her home. I think it was a Tuesday (yea no real clue on the day, just trying to set the stage) and my wife had just finish topping our little lady off with some premo boob juice. She hands our daughter over to me to get her to burp while my wife does a little nip cleaning/creaming. I start running the typical daddy daughter game, you know the one where you talk to your baby like you’re an idiot while giving them pats on the back. About 14 seconds in to all this I hear a strange noise and I found myself gripping my daughter a little tighter because I felt my arm vibrating. After realizing that it was just my daughter taking a grown ass man sized dump, I go into one of those nervous giggle type things. Like yea it was cute and funny but I know nothing nice is going to come out of this situation. I heroically look at my wife and proclaim “Have no fear, I will take care of this villain.” I take our baby girl up to her room so I can lay her on the changing table and assess the damage. Again talking like an idiot to my daughter I unbutton her onesie, undo the straps on her diaper, and begin to slowly open the diaper. No lie, first thought. What… The… Fuck. As parents we have all had to deal with dirty diapers, hazards of the job, but when you open a diaper and it looks like your child just made their own diaper with baby shit… that’s a whole different hazard. Due to my confusion I didn’t even notice the smell that filled the room because I was more transfixed on wondering how she was able to get poop to go from her lower back to her belly button. I yell to my wife, “Babe, I think she just pooped from her vagina.” Half serious half joking. I honestly had no clue how or where all this poop had come from. My brain could no comprehend that this little beautiful baby girl had done something to this level of diaper devastation. My wife laughs at me and says “She didn’t poop from her vagina. Now clean it up.” I give her a half smile and grab a handful of wipes, look down into her big brown eyes, and say “Baby girl, I’m going in.” I start to try and neutralize the situation one wipe at a time but I start to feel like I’m losing the battle. I get rattled and the next thing I know I have poop on my hand which I try to wipe off but get poop on my other hand. I still try to keep myself calm but the smell has started to penetrate my senses and my gag reflex goes off. “Come on man. Get it done, you can handle this.” I tell myself. One more wipe and poop is on me again. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck this.” I say and I give more half ass (pun intended) wipe and just pick her up and head to the bathroom to give her a sink bath.
Fast forward to the present where we are now working on potty training, and I still get flashbacks to poomageddon day. It’s hard to forget that image of shit (literally shit) in every crack, crevasse, and baby roll she had. I have always prided myself on being a minimalist man, but after that day, I spared no amount of diaper wipes to get the job done. With my son I could get away with 2 diaper wipes but with my daughter I soon learned that I could not get out of there with no less than 2000 diaper wipes. It still pisses me off that my wife could get in and out of that thing with like three wipes and a smile, but I guess you could chalk that up to the V code (vagina code haha). I also think there was a little payback since I had things so easy with my son that I had to make up for it with my daughter.
What does all this mean, what is the point? The point is that I thought I knew everything just because I already had a boy but in all reality I had to start all over again because girls are just different. Different kids, different personalities, and different ways to wipe an ass. I remember one day when I broke down and just asked my wife if I was cleaning our daughter properly. Definitely one of the weirder moments of parenting being a grown ass man and looking over at my wife and basically saying “Am I doing this right boss?” Just imagine this fragile unsure dad trying to make sure he is cleaning his daughter’s whoha properly and looking with wide eyes at my wife for strong encouraging guidance and all I get is, “Yea, you’re good.” Got to love when karma comes back on you and just laughs in your face. So in its simplest form, girls are different from boys and check your ego or you just might end up with shit on your hands.
Pro Tip: With baby girls always remember front to back. If you got back to front you’re going to have some problems boss. It doesn’t matter for boys, you can do whatever as long as you get the button clean.
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