Isaac has been on several roadtrips this summer—some small, like when we needed to go to Madison and long, like the eight-hour drive to Cleveland and Cincinnati and the fifteen (!) hour drive to Texas. He’s been a champ on the road, which offered more proof of his general awesomeness. In fact, David and I were discussing Isaac’s status as World’s Best Baby on the way back to Wisconsin when we smelled something. Something bad—bad enough that we needed to roll down the windows. We headed to the nearest exit (fittingly called Montezuma), where the only place to stop was an abandoned gas station, the perfect location for a horror movie.
And that’s when we saw it.
Notice the impressive distribution of poop—including the side of his face and the swamp of nastiness pooled in between his legs. Isaac wasn’t the merest bit concerned during the forty-five minutes it took us to clean him and the car seat off, change him and re-diaper; it took us so long not only because the code orange catastrophe but also because we kept bursting into fits of laughter.
Sadly, there were some casualties, including the really cute, new onesie that Grandma Ferne just got him a couple weeks ago, multiple burp clothes, and one of Isaac’s favorite toys. RIP, Mr. Bojangles.
Even starring as Mr. Poopy Pants, Isaac is utterly adorable. And his expression is so placid for one covered in filth.
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