Friends, it’s time to talk about the dark underbelly of the parenting universe. There are so many aspects of parenting that are terrifying, disgusting, and push you to the edge, but few have earned such a reputation that even the cute, naive, clueless parents-to-be have heard of their legend and already started negotiations with their partner to see who will be responsible for the fallout. I am referring, of course, to the infamous, the dreaded, the inevitable: diaper blowouts.

Let’s not confuse this with normal poopy diapers. Seasoned parents deal with many and varied bodily fluids and don’t blink an eye: vomit, snot, blood, urine, spit, sweat, tears. But nothing strikes fear into the heart like the tell-tell stain spreading up the back that tells you you’re about to get really familiar with your washer and dryer. (Except maybe your toddler bringing you an open bottle of nail polish. But that’s a Pandora’s box of fun that’s better saved for another time.)

Blowout diapers can strike anywhere and everywhere, but the laws of physics dictate that they will cluster around certain prime scenarios (although please note that every scenario will involve a scientifically designed onesie from NASA that cleverly directs the deluge up around baby’s ears, so have fun stripping that sucker off without painting the town brown. Or green. Or yellow. So many fun possibilities!):

1. An hour before you wanted to be up, all over the crib and walls. This is referred to in the biz as a 2 Load Blowout. Wanted to snuggle with your happy, well-rested tot and smell their sweet baby hair and their clean, soft, squishy baby legs? Yeah, not me, I wanted to strip sheets, find a bottle of OxiClean that’s not on its last legs, and do baths before breakfast. It’s much better than caffeine for getting your adrenaline going.
2.  At a friend’s house. Preferably after your little tyke is crawling and on a very expensive rug. Also, the twelve extra outfits that have been rattling around the bottom of your huge diaper bag for the last six months should have been emptied earlier that day so you only have an extra baby blanket Junior can rock as a Roman toga until you get tired of wrapping him up and just let him rock that diaper look. Also it will be January and snowing because the universe loves you.
3. On a road trip. Probably at a swanky gas station halfway to nowhere. This will invariably be the Big One that leaves them laying in two inches of steamy goodness in a car seat cover that takes a PhD in engineering to remove from the frame and buckles. Oh, the buckles. Really enjoy trying to sanitize those buckles. And since most gas stations are renowned for their spa-like bathrooms with built in showers, you definitely won’t have to choose between a sponge bath with an entire package of baby wipes or taking your odds with a public bathroom sink and hoping no one ever wanted to wash their hands again. The cherry on top is that you will probably end up with twenty pounds of soiled linens that you now get to have stored somewhere in the car with you for the next 22+ hours of riding in a hot, enclosed, metal box of olfactory delight. At this point let me gift you with this advice from someone who’s been there: Burn it. Burn it all. Find a dumpster, buy some lighter fluid, maybe some fireworks, and turn your back on the past. Bonus points if you get some slow-motion footage of your dramatic walk to freedom with flames and explosions blasting over your shoulder.

That’s it. That’s all the advice I have for you. I’m on my sixth babe in diapers and I still don’t understand why some one hasn’t yet invented some sort of outfit or suction system to solve this problem. I mean, it’s got to be like a guaranteed Nobel prize win if you figure that out, right? Probably in the category of World Peace? But ours is not to question why, ours is but to gag and die. Good luck out there, friends. And just tell yourself it could be worse. You could be potty training.