My baby bro, whom I'll call Bob, had been a bit off the last couple of days, but I didn't think anything of it. He wasn't nearly as sick as we had all been, so I agreed to take him. I got him dressed, packed a few extra diapers and a bottle, and called a cab. My other brother, whom I will call Joe, and his girlfriend Jane were coming along for the ride, so we really had to squish in there. Since my daughter was coming, we decided not to bring car seats and instead just sat the kids on our laps. This way there was room for all of us as well as the diaper bag. The local police didn't care much about kids not being in car seats, and at the time, neither did I.
We lived in a small mountain town in New Brunswick, which meant we had to travel quite a distance to the mall.
I heard the low rumble first. Next I heard the gurgling. It was coming from my Bob. It didn't smell much, and I was glad I had brought the extra diapers.
About an hour into our shopping trip, Bob was wearing the last of the six extra diapers I had brought. Joe and Jane were getting pretty annoyed with our frequent stops to the bathroom, and I was pissed that our day was being ruined by a toddler with explosive diarrhea. But then again, we all knew it wasn't his fault, so we decided we had to pass the blame -- as we walked around the mall, with the stench of baby crap following us everywhere, we cursed my mom for "making" me bring him. It felt better to be mad at her than at poor baby Bob, his innocent little face twisting in discomfort every time he let another wave of diarrhea milk flow in his Pampers.
We decided to eat. The biggest department store in the mall had a large, family-oriented restaurant in it, and Bob hadn't had a dump in nearly half an hour. We thought he had emptied himself out and the worst was over.
Halfway through our dinner, Bob started to fuss in his highchair. My own little angel had fallen asleep in her highchair and Joe and I really didn't want him to wake her. Jane, who barely ate, offered to take Bob for a walk in the stroller to calm him down while we finished eating. As she was taking him out of the highchair, he let go again -- this time with a flow so massive no diaper could contain it. We watched in horror as it started leaking out the sides of his diapers and through his pants.
Not sure what to do and knowing we were out of diapers, we sat him back down. He wailed as we tried to think.
And then the smell hit us.
It was an ungodly odor that spread quickly, filling the restaurant. The other patrons began giving us dirty looks and one lady even started to gag. We had to get out of there, fast. We abandoned our food and went to pay; and while we waited at the counter Bob let go again. Liquid poop the color of butterscotch pudding dripped all over the floor. Jane walked away, embarrassed and disgusted, and Joe cursed my mother out loud, calling her every name in the book.
We only had one stroller and we didn't want to soil it, so I put my still sleeping angel in it and carried Bob. I held him under the armpits and at arm's length as we ran for the exit.
We called a cab to go home, but we knew we couldn't ride with him like this -- none of us had any intention of putting him on our lap. So we did the only thing we could think of at the time: we took him to the ladies' room, stripped him naked, washed him up in the sink, and made him a plastic bag jumpsuit. I know it sounds weird, but we couldn't very well wait outside for a cab with a naked baby.
Here is how you make a plastic bag jumpsuit: cut two holes in the bottom corner of a plastic bag. Those are for the baby's legs. The baby's arms go through the handles. Then tie a shoelace around him under the armpits to keep it snug. Make sure to pad his bum with paper towels, just in case.
Bob seemed better now. He wasn't fussing, which led us to hope the ride home would be poop free. We sat him in the middle in the backseat, between Joe and Jane. Joe held my little one (who was still asleep) while I sat in the front.
It was a quiet drive home. We were all shocked, tired, and pissed. The cab driver, obviously curious about what had transpired at the mall to result in my baby bro's new attire, tried to make conversation, but we hardly answered. He got the message and finally gave up.
About one block from our house, it happened. It was a silent one this time, and we wouldn't have known anything had happened if Jane hadn't suddenly shrieked, "IT'S ON MY PANTS! OH GOD HE SHIT AGAIN AND IT'S ALL OVER MY PANTS!"
The smell was putrid and we had to open the windows. My daughter had woken up and was crying, as were both Bob and Jane. Joe was cursing, the cab driver was laughing, and I wanted to shoot myself.
Arriving home, Jane ran in to change and shower, Joe took in the kids, and I paid the driver and tried to talk him out of making me pay for the upholstery. I ended up cleaning most of the backseat, but he still billed me $100.
Needless to say, I got my mom to pay for it.