Ezra and the Great Poop Disaster

This happened last week, but I was too traumatized to write about it until now. Last week, I found out two things; 1) why Velcro diapers are not a good idea for a nosy, Macgiver-inspired child, and 2) why all children should come with bio-hazard warnings.

It was a day like every other day. The children were sleeping, and I was sitting on the couch folding laundry. Suddenly, I heard a noise. It was a cross between a squeak and a squawk, but it was not a noise of distress. In fact, it sounded like the noise of a baby, happily playing in his crib after his nap. So, I didn't panic and resumed folding my laundry.
A few minutes later, the noise turned from a squawk to a SCREEEEEEEEECH-this noise was unmistakable. A small person was ANGRY. So I sighed, left the laundry to watch television without me, and went to remove His Angriness from the Cage of Cruel and Unnecessary Confinement (better known as a "crib").
When I opened the door, my nostrils were immediately assailed with the kind of smell usually associated with the streets of medieval England in the midst of summer. An unmistakable smell. The smell...of POOP. I still didn't panic--I am a veteran of the poopy diaper. I thought to myself "The room is small. The window is closed. Perhaps it is just a result of the non-circulating air". This, my friends, was wishful thinking at its finest.
I opened the curtain and beheld a horror like no other. Graffiti covered my child, his crib, the wall, the floor, and everything in the crib. Graffiti-made of poop. LOTS of poop. Despite (or maybe because of) his poopy-ness, the small screeching Picasso smiled brightly when he saw me. I removed the child, placed him in the (waterless) tub, held my breath and threw everything in the crib into the washer (except the musical giraffe, which I had the pleasure of hand-washing).
That was last week. The crib, stuffed animals and baby were all restored to their former, feces-free state. However, I still shudder a bit with trepidation when going to get him out of the crib; I never know what I'll find.