The Amazing Tales of Supermommy

Tis I, the Amazing Supermommy, here to regale you with tales of my exploits in parenting!

This eve I was almost foiled by the wee beastie, but as you shall soon see, neither pee nor poop nor spit-up milk shall overcome me!

Our story begins when the little bugger defecated in his containment device, otherwise known as "did a doodle." Smiling fiendishly, he dared me to challenge his poo. Somehow, my trusty sidekick known as Daddy had mysteriously disappeared as soon as said doodle hit the diapers, so it was up to Supermommy to combat the dastardly poops.

I had wrestled the nasty diaper with its demonic pooh-bear pictures on the outside and orange-creamsicle-with-bonus-chunks filling its inside into the miraculous Diaper Genie. I turned to fish a wet wipe from my utility belt when - horrors! - the beastie pulled another trick out of his bag and peed in a great glowing arc of urine! Oh no!

I, however, am Supermommy, and was not fazed. I looked at his face, prepared to spout a hilarious quip, when the Ian beastie turned his head to the side and - YARK - spewed forth a vitriolic mass of such disgusting magnitude that the very ground shook in terror. Twas the previous feeding of milk, with bonus chunks in it as well, and it shortly ran down his cheek and covered the back of his head before I could say "Holy Lactation, Batman!" Beastie then, chuckling demonically, added yet more baby pee to the mix, managing to get some of it on Supermommy, but only because I was distracted by gagging and saying "ew!" really loudly.

Supermommy to the rescue! Off I dashed to where I had stashed my bowl in the bathroom, for fetching warm water to bathe He Who Shall Not Be Diapered. Little did I know, but my trusty sidekick otherwise known as Daddy had hidden my bowl! Egads!

So there I was, with a squalling beast in my arms, his head covered in white goopy substance and his butt covered in orangey-yellow goopy substance, dripping pee off of his cute little footies -- uh, I mean his dastardly footies -- flying madly through the house to the kitchen whenceforth I could draw a new bowl with which to clean the hellish mess. At that time did I learn that trusty sidekick known as Daddy had chosen the most inopportune time to go downstairs, and as such he had not heard my cry for assistance. A pox on you, trusty sidekick known as Daddy! A pox, I say!

Nevertheless, I perservered and managed to bathe the beastie and wrestle him into a new wrapping (it was really cute and had little smiley ducks on it and a zipper). Ha ha! The demon was contained! Huzzah!

Kindly, trusty sidekick known as Daddy allowed me to take another shower. I am also well versed in the use of the Supermommy Laser Eyes of Doom, but somehow they always seem to get used on trusty sidekick known as Daddy rather than on any fiendish foes. Hmm.

"Breastfed babies don't spit up," my freshly scrubbed heinie!