Johnny Jumpoopoo

The Boy is 6 months old and loves to jump in his Johnny Jump Up seat. Tonight I was doing some work on my computer in the bedroom and The Husband was in the living room with The Boy, who was jumping. I heard the husband yell "Hon! Come here. I need your help!" I went into the living room and I immediately smelled something foul. Like a can of opened english peas mixed with curry that got left in a dumpster foul.

Me: What is it?
Husband: He shat. Everywhere.

It was then that I saw that The Boy was in his Jump Up, but The Husband was holding it way up in the air. The Boy was grinning.

Me: What are you doing?
H: He shat everywhere. He blew out his diaper and then he jumped in it.
The Boy looked at me, grinning, suspended in the air.
Me: What do you need me to do?
H: Get him so I can clean up the floor.
(I reach to pick him up)
H: But it's all over him. And the seat.
(I pick him up, holding him as far away from me as possible. The seat is filled with poop. His diaper is filled with poop. He laughs because he likes being held in the air. I try to get him to put his weight in his feet so I don't have to touch his diaper but he slips.)
H: ....And on his socks.
(That's what he slipped on. I notice the poop running down his leg just after I tracked it on the floor. Thank God for hardwoods.)
Me: This is disgusting.

The Husband gags. The Boy grins. It's as if he knows what he's done and he knows he's won. I carry the laughing boy to his room to change him but I don't risk putting him on the changing table or his crib.  I grabbed  a towel with my toes and spread it on the floor, got a new diaper and wipes, and lay him on the floor, all while holding him at arm's length. He thinks this is hilarious and laughs through the whole process. The Husband followed me into his room to get the Lysol.

H: He shat his socks.
Me: Take them off. (Husband takes them off. They are covered in poop.)
H: What do you want me to do with them?
Me: Is it terrible if I want to throw them away? (I see the trash can lid closing as I finish my sentence. They are gone. I think to myself that this is why other countries hate the U.S. yet I don't retrieve them.)

The Boy laughs and rolls over, smearing poop all over his stomach.  I take off his diaper and use 45 wipes to clean him up. He grins. How can I be mad at him? I take off his poopie shirt and his diaper, roll them up in the poopie towel and put them in the diaper pail, gagging. New diaper, new outfit, gave him back to Husband. I picked up the diaper pail, gagged again, and went to wash the clothes and the pail.

H: You know what was the worst part?
Me: What?
H: I saw it happening but I was on the phone with Bank of America and couldn't do anything about it.
Me: What?!
H: I saw it all, but I just had to watch him jump in his poop until I could get off the phone. 
Me: Gross! What do you think about people who say that you don't mind cleaning it up when it's your own kid?
H: They're #$&*( LIARS!
Obviously proud, The Boy laughs. I decided I needed to start a blog.