Jesse Mab-Phea Hill was having a wonderful day – until things took a turn for the worse.
“As I’m going upstairs I smell something foul. I scan the basement from the stairs thinking the dogs dropped a deuce before I let them outside. I see nothing,” the dad wrote in a post to Facebook.
“And then my blood runs cold when I realize the stink is coming from the upper floor.”
When he made his way to his daughter’s room, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry:
“I run up the stairs screaming ‘No, no, no, no,’ till I get to Alessandra’s room. There she is, standing at the baby gate, butt naked, holding her diaper, covered head to toe in her own crap. I’m not talking a little poop here and there on her. I’m talking layered on globs of human fecal matter covering her arms, legs, face, and HAIR. It’s bad. It’s worse then any other time she decided to explore in her diaper. . . . There is literally no good place to pick my daughter up to get her to the bath, so I just knock the baby gate over so she can walk out on her own terms. Instead of walking out of her room she smiles up at me and extends her arms for me to pick her up. I yell, ‘Hell no.’ After a brief stare off she walks out of her room past me and heads down the stairs.
At this point I’m forced to pick her up because the bath wasn’t down stairs. I use 2 fingers on both hands to lift her by her armpits and I shuffle the 2 of us off to the bathroom. The whole time she’s in the tub she tries to touch me with her sh*t-covered hands and I scream like a prepubescent girl and dodge her. After 20 minutes I pick all the crap out of her hair, bottom of her feet, and everywhere in between. Now it’s time to step foot in her room.
Mind you, I haven’t even looked in her room yet because when I first got to her room Alessandra was standing there like a sh*t covered bridge troll. I thought she had pooped in her diaper and got it on herself, but it was so much worse. I walk in her room slowly and am greeted with a scene straight out of a German fetish dream. Everything on the right side of the room is covered in steaming baby crap. The walls, the toys, the windows, the curtains, the play bench, the floor, the baby piano, my hopes, all covered in crap. It looked like a real category 5 sh*t storm blew through her room. Hurricane Sh*trina if you will.
I have no clue where to start. So I call Mayra. She’s on her way back home and I’m on my way to lighting the house on fire. I won’t get into anymore graphic details but two rolls of paper towels, five stolen gym towels, one bottle of Pine Sol, one bottle of bleach, one big bag of crap covered toys, and two-and-a-half hours later her room still smells like a dumpster fire.”
Hill leaves his hilarious post on a relatable note for other parents to nod their heads to. “I swear I do everything I can to show these kids I love them, but they turn on me when I least expect it,” he wrote. “Anyway, I write these trials and tribulations of mine to not only do my part to spread written contraception and to strike fear in the hearts of new parents, but also to remind myself that no matter what I’m going through, at least I’m not cleaning hot baby crap out of the gears of my daughter’s play set again.”
