It happened to me...it could happen to you.

I know you were all waiting for another poop story.

I, however, was not hoping for another blog-worthy fecal experience...but with my children, it's almost unavoidable. They eat a lot of fiber. And they're quite prone to what I like to call, the blowout.

So the other day, I was at the park right outside our house with the kids, pushing Jack in the swing, while Jane sat patiently in her little umbrella stroller. She was so peaceful; although, looking back, I now think she was letting out an occasional grunt here or there that I didn't notice at first.

Well, it was getting late and close to her bedtime. She was getting a little fussy, so I reached to the side of her in search of her pacifier, but couldn't find it. She's probably sitting on it, I thought. So I proceeded to slip my hand behind her back, and as I did so, I got a whiff of something just a bit, well, off. And there it was...the pacifier, completely CAKED in poop so UN-solid, it may as well have been peanut butter. No biggie, I thought--she has a ton of pacifiers, so it's history.

That's when I saw it.

My new LG phone, on which I had unwisely let her gnaw. It, too, had fallen behind her little back, unaware that it was about to be covered in something she had been saving up for nearly a full day. How could so MUCH come from someone so little???

Nevermind that--my phone, with all its nooks and crannies, was now filled with Jane's lovely present.

Fast forward to a few days later: I am still disinfecting the thing, afraid to answer it when it rings, afraid that I'll catch a whiff, or that somehow the relentless odor will transfer to my cheek and stay there forever. And I'm pretty sure cell phone insurance doesn't cover fecal damage.

So, I'm stuck with a poop phone. Que sera sera.