Poop happens.

So, everyone has one or two funny poop stories under their belt...no pun intended. However, poop stories tend to get funnier after you have children. You deal with all type of fluids that you never dreamed of dealing with, and you don't really mind it either. At least, most of the time, parents don't mind. I have to say that I, unlike other moms, am not quiet about my dissatisfaction with the laborious job of changing diapers. I hate it! I have dry heaved and come close to throwing up.
I love my son, but I don't like his poop. It stinks, and it comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Pee-pee diapers aren't so bad, when he isn't peeing as you are changing him. Rule of thumb: Keep your mouth closed when you are changing a little boy. That little sucker will shoot you, and you won't even see it coming.
I also have tricked my husband (OK, he's on to me) into changing most of the poopy diapers for two reasons: 1) I carried the baby and popped it out. It is, clearly, his turn to do something unpleasant AND 2) I have Crohns disease, and I might unexpectedly throw up..he he he.
However, this day was unique. On this particular day, I was feeling especially brave. OK, OK, OK. My husband was in the other room painting, and since he was working, I was on my own. Lucky for me, this was an extremely enlightening diaper changing experience (sarcasm). I opened the diaper to find that my son, armed with the prophecy that it would be ME, left an abundant gift there...it was everywhere.
As I began to gag, the baby cooed and laughed, as if to say, "You simpleton. I knew this would be amusing for me." Son of a...!!! So, here I was: poop coming out of the diaper, baby laughing at me, with no escape. I started to scream for Avrien...no reply! I took deep breaths, and thought, 'OK, you can do this, one wipe at time. This is not a big deal. Man up, lady.' Then it happened....there it was in all of its glory...poop....under my fingernail. Everything switched to slow motion, as I screamed in a slo-mo, low voice, "NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I screamed for Avrien...this time he came running in. From the way I screamed, he must have thought that the baby had fallen and smacked his head on a rock. This was not the case.
I got up and ran around the house, like a chicken with its head cut off. I was running. Where was I running? What was I doing? All I knew was there was poop under my fingernail, and I was running from something. The poop, perhaps? I ran into the kitchen, attempting not to touch anything with that hand, frantically looking for a nail clipper. I washed my hands, but it would not release itself from the back of my fingernail.

At this point, Avrien was finished changing the baby's diaper, standing at the doorway of the kitchen, and laughing at me. "It's not funny!!!" I screamed.
I found it. The nail clipper. Thank God. I cut it off over the trash can, washed my hands again, poured myself a glass of cold water, put my hand on my head, laid down on the couch, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. I was alive. I had survived.
Had it been my leg, I would have amputated it. Luckily it was just my fingernail. Poop, certainly, happens. That's a fact, and my fingernail died in battle as a casualty of war. R.I.P. Left Thumbnail...you will be missed.