Poop Is Just Poop Spelled Backwards

Good Friday was a good day for lots of things. Jesus, my savior, died for me and I always have a new hope for life this time of year. That evening was also very productive for a little pooper.

I took a precious baby boy to church and as I sat down realized that there was a slight funk in the air. I suspected poop. Thankfully, I had arrived at church early so I promptly headed to the bathroom. There was a nice present waiting for me and as I placed the new diaper under him and threw the other diaper away, he decided to gift me with another present. This happened another couple of times, each time I had to throw away an almost perfectly good diaper. An eager parishioner knocked on the door one time and I had to assure the person that someone was actually in the restroom.

Finally, he seemed to be done. I headed back out to our pew and after a few minutes was struck with Pepe Le Pew. Back to the bathroom I went, grateful that there had been an overabudance of diapers packed in my bag. After eliminating his last present, I headed back into church in the midst of the readings, with soaring blood pressure and just one diaper left in my emergency supply. Phew, that was close.