It was a series of bad decisions. As most great mishaps are. We were camping, having breakfast. Eggs and English muffins.
Sammy, my 1-year-old, was done and messy. So I just took his pjs and diaper off to get him dressed.
He slipped away and ran bare-skinny in the morning sunshine with his sun bleached hair- cute and free.
Before I knew it he was on the other side of the picnic table, butt naked, stabbing at an English muffin with a fork. I left him naked to grab a camera.
As I lowered the camera I looked more closely at the brown bench. Sammy had dropped
Amongst the “Ewe Sammy”s I put Sammy on the grass, so he wouldn’t step in it, and raced in the trailer to grab paper towel. But I left him with the fork. The bench and its bounty now at eye level. The warning first came from my friend Anna camping beside us, “Sammy don’t!!” The English muffin was forgotten.
I saw my mistakes colliding before my eyes and the word FORK blurring my vision as I finally located the paper towel. I raced out of the trailer my voice breaking as I screamed, “SAMUEL NO!! NO SAMMY!! YUCKY!!” He bit it. His poo. My eldest, sitting on the bench, was gagging trying to keep in his breakfast. I never even stopped my run. Under my arm I ran with him to the tap throwing the fork as we flew. My friend just steps behind me with a bottle of dish detergent. Poor kid was scrubbed with in an inch of his life under that cold tap. We returned to my stunned children staring at the “Horrible” with a small gathering of other children. When it was all cleaned up I laughed. It was after all an epic poo story my child will never live down. And half an hour later I found myself distracted by 250 matches.