In the early 90’s, a friend of mine and I took my nephew and his cousin (both toddlers) to the park one Saturday.  We all had a blast that day; the kids ran all around like wind-up toys, and it was fun for childless dudes to get to hang around their kid relatives for a controlled amount of time.

Later, we went to Chuck E. Cheese for even more merriment.  My nephew, Ryan, was just out of diapers.  He also wasn’t feeling too well that day.  We’d only been there a few minutes when he said he had to go to the bathroom.  I went with him.

We entered, and I told him to go into a stall while I waited.  He went in and closed the door.  A few seconds later there was a prolonged “splat,” then loud sobbing.

I opened the door.  There was runny poop all over the toilet bowl, the floor, his legs, and his underwear, which he had managed to get about halfway down.

I thought, “goddammit,” but tried to calm him down.  He finally relaxed, and I proceeded to wipe up the poop.  I was using toilet paper and paper towels while enduring a powerful stench.  I got him and the surroundings relatively clean, told him to stay put, then took his underwear to the sink.

It was hot in the bathroom and I was sweating as I washed my nephew’s poop out of his underwear.  I was just thinking the situation was under control when I heard him, from the stall, cry, “AGAIN!”

I quickly opened the stall door.  It was the same scene, only worse: even more poop all over him, the toilet, and the floor. I thought, “You gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” then calmed him down again.

After patiently but frustratingly cleaning the stall, I had to wash his pants in the sink.  I was sweating like Shaquille O’Neal late in a close game.  Another guy around my age came in and saw the situation.  He said, “Ah, great to be a dad, huh?”

I said, “I’m just the uncle.  This isn’t fair.”

Anyway, we got things cleaned up, Ryan got a diaper from the other kid, and he was okay.  He only smelled slightly poopy that afternoon in the ball pit.  And as far as I know, he never crapped all over a bathroom stall again.

MORAL OF THE STORY:  Blood is thicker than poop.