I Think This May Be Number Three, Actually.

I'm having one of those days.
It all started innocently enough. With a pancake. A simple, small pancake.
Camilla was unusually quiet and calm for a while this morning after breakfast, so I took advantage of the free time. By cleaning, of course. What else?
While sweeping the living room, I noticed that Camilla had shoved one of her mini pancakes under the couch. I bent down to get it, bringing my nose perilously close to her rear end.
“Ew, something sti-”
Poop. Everywhere. I noticed it just as I noticed the smell. On the rug. In her hair. On the couch. Covering her back. On her HANDS, which were absently scratching her forehead, leaving trails of more poop. Her toes were covered.
How did I miss this?
It was like a murder scene, only with poop.
I guess we've been lucky. I've never dealt with a real blow-out before. I should've known it was coming, though...she's getting three (!) teeth at one time.
I just stood there staring, a sick feeling in my stomach. How was I going to clean her up without getting it all over me? As her hands got closer to her mouth, I stopped thinking and dove for the wet wipes. The Thick Care wet wipes. This was no time for the wimpy Parent's Choice wipes.
So I wiped. And wiped. And wiped.
Half the pack of wipes later, the bulk of the mess was gone, so I left her naked and went to run a bath. I ran back to the living room to collect my smelly child and slipped in a puddle of liquid. I grabbed the counter to keep from falling and looked down to see Camilla with a little grin on her face.
PEE. She had peed on the floor.
Right now she's sleeping and clean and smells sweet again. I just finished cleaning and need a nap myself.
Any and all dirty diapers that happen for the rest of the day are Giovanni's problem.