Shit my kid did, vol 1

As the kickoff post for the Shit my kid did series I felt a truly epic event ought to be the cornerstone of the content. And I finally have such a tale, didn’t take long to experience one — only 15 months.

A little bit of backstory

Being a 15-monther, Mr Finnigus is stumbling / climbing / crawling / reaching for everything he’s able. The backdrop for this tale goes as follows: We’re living out of a hotel (#beerflu), so the place isn’t all that baby-proofed #NotGreatNotTerrible.

Up to this point his climbing skill hadn’t fully been tested, save on the couch, and we’d made a habit of moving all breakable or pointy items out of reach. Still though, Mr Finnigus found ways to stretch and contort his tiny body that I didn’t think possible.

Short story long

Why do children, specifically babies, make such an effort to be the chief engineers of their own demise? On one hand it’s great that Mr Finnigus is so inquisitive and curious, looking at and inspecting every new object he comes across, but curiosity can come with a price — it often kills cats, so I’m told — and logically speaking, it’s inevitable that mistakes will be made when working with new elements and concepts… like gravity.

Our morning ritual

Mr Finnigus and I play out the exact same routine almost every morning:

  1. Drink milk 🍼
  2. Change diaper 👶
  3. Get changed 👚

It was step two where I took my eyes off my special little gremlin for mere seconds, and that was enough to trigger a series of unfortunate events.


I get serious allergy fire-sales most mornings, this one was particularly brutal and my poor nose was gushing. No sooner than after Mr Finnigus was changed (✅ step two 😎), I unceremoniously deposited the unfolded dirty diaper onto the corner edge of the bathtub and quickly grabbed for a nearby tissue.


Facing the bathroom mirror, I gave the old schnoz a blow and my spider-sense began to tingle. Turning to get a better look, curiosity quickly transformed into terror as I realized what Mr Finnigus was attempting to climb.

Oh, the vanity table

The shit my kid did does not pertain to the items on top of the vanity table as shown here. In this case they were all little knickknacks, nothing that could cause bodily harm like that vase.
This is a stock image from the hotel’s website. Our stool tucks under the vanity unlike here, and Mr Finnigus used the leverage to pull upward, tipping the table over and onto himself.

Why would he do this? What prompted him to take this action you ask? Does that even matter? Regardless, what he achieved was a crash course in weight balancing / counter balancing and pulled the whole thing down on top of himself.

Recovering from a state of panic, I set right the fallen vanity table and surveyed the damage. His left-hand-side collarbone area was red, but no immediate bruising or broken skin. I then waited to see how long the crying was to last. It didn’t last long, so far so good. The damage was remarkably light for such a heavy and imposing object. I can only surmise that it must have struck something else (probably the foot of the bed) before landing on top of my son.

Crisis seemingly averted, I went back to the last thing I was doing: Giving the old blow horn a toot. This time I exited the bedroom and grabbed a tissue from a small round table near the dining area.

Chance again: The shit my kid did

Well, dear reader, do you remember that dirty diaper I left unfurled on an accessible edge of the bathtub? I sure won’t and haven’t since.

“Jesus forking crackers!” I exclaimed.

I wish I’d said that.

But no, I said much worse as my extremely helpful and intelligent young son capitalized on the disruption of our daily morning ritual to remove the desecrated dirty diaper from atop the bathtub edge on which it sat, and gallivanted through our hotel room, launching his dookies every which way. The shit my kid did.


👇 Talk amongst yourselves, I'll give you a topic ☝️

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