My wonderful toddler, who is 16-months-old, is such a happy loving little ball of cuteness. If she’s not melting down, she’s always ensuring she can get into everything humanly possible. Apparently, this includes, but is not limited to; removing her pants, removing her diaper, and having a field day with her poop.
An obtrusively annoying chime screams from our Google Home, signaling it’s 11 am, and time for Saoirse’s nap. I have to have an alarm set, because I will very quickly lose track of time. Especially if I’m doing things around the house or writing.
My jugular bulging from yelling at the discriminatory Google Home, rolling my chair back, I throw my slipper at it to get the blaring alarm to go off. It didn’t work like I had envisioned, as all I did was knock the Google Home on the floor -alarm still blaring away mockingly. Fingers massaging my temples, I sigh, stumbling out of my chair slowly. Dragging, I finally make it to the sound box on the floor…
When suddenly silence erupts. It was as if the electronics in the cylinder of doom knew that it was about to die, and it just gave in without hesitation. Confused, I stare at the Google Home for a few minutes, curious as to how it shut itself off. At first I was scared to touch it because, well you know, Skynet. Anyway, I mustered an ounce of courage and poked it with my big toe. It didn’t move.
Panic sets in. Did I break it? If I broke it my husband’s going to kill me. I pick it up, inspecting every aspect to ensure it wasn’t broken, when it turned on, resetting itself. Startled, I quickly placed it back on top of the entertainment center and began my treacherous journey upstairs.
I didn’t even make it to the top landing before I was excitedly greeted by a toddler gnawing away at the wooden baby gate. She was supposed to be in her brother’s room, but I guess she got bored, and decided to scale the makeshift gate he had and escape. Full of smiles, she reached up for me to pick her up and I did.
We do a little jig and head into the bedroom, where I get her changed and put into her bumblebee onesie. She went into her crib without a fight, giving me a kiss to seal the deal. Which isn’t the norm, so I should have known immediately that something mischievous was afoot. And boy oh boy, was it really afoot.
And I laid her down, where she peacefully slept for three hours.
As I’m sitting at my computer, doing more job searching, receiving more job denials, and responding to emails regarding 9am Mommy, my son starts screaming for me from the top of the stairs.
I rolled back asking him what was wrong.
Frantically, “Mom you need to come here! Like now.”
Again I ask him what is going on, as he likes to over exaggerate situations and cause a panic where one wasn’t needed. He’s still frantically calling for me, his voice elevating with every mom. Without hesitation I rocket out of my chair and start running up the stairs, the entire time thinking something is seriously wrong.
He meets me at the top of the stairs, his finger pointing into my bedroom. My heart in my throat, I fly over the baby gate. My movement stopped stone cold at the sight that laid before me.
Saoirse up in her crib, smiling and giggling away. She has no pants on, her diaper is thrown by the litter box, and there’s poop everywhere. Poop smeared on the crib handle. Poop smeared on her crib pad. Poop smeared on the walls in reminiscent fashion of early Picasso. Poop smeared in her hair. Poop smeared on her body. Poop. Poop everywhere.
I stood in the doorway dry heaving at the sight, while she was just laughing away. My son rubbing my shoulders signaling “it’s okay.” I have never in my adult life seen anything like this, and if I had to describe it using one word; that word would be poopsorcist, because that’s what it looked like.
That little corner in the back of my room looked like poop became possessed and used her little body as the gateway for its demonic mischievousness. I walked over making sure I didn’t step in any stray poop and grabbed her by the tips of my fingers.
Off to the bath we go little one, off to the bath we go.
HOT & IN A RUSH POOP REMOVAL SPRAY
After about an hour of crying and trying to figure out how to take the poop off my white walls, I found a solution that worked. I’m not big into all natural, but I made something that is natural, and doesn’t smell horrible.
Here’s what you’ll need:
- Spray bottle or bucket
- 1 cup vinegar. Can be apple or white. (I used white it was all we had)
- 1 tbsp baking soda
- 2 tbsp lemon juice
- Hot, hot, hot water. Don’t burn yourself though.
Mix the vinegar, lemon juice, and hot water together. Add the baking soda slowly. It gets bubbly fast. If you’re using a spray bottle, put all the liquid in first and then add the baking soda. If a bucket, you can just kind of dump it together.
Where the absolutely wonderful child decided to channel their inner Picasso, add the solution. Let it sit a minute or two and wipe it off. It took two passes for me to remove the poop off my walls and that was super fresh poop.
I haven’t tested it on dry poop, and hope that I never have to. However, I do use this same formula for crayon on the wall, dry erase marker on laminate flooring, to clean my kitchen and bathrooms and it works really well too.
Through this experience, I also learned, that it cleans poop really well too.