. . . okay. Maybe not the absolute worst. But pretty dang bad.
So bad in fact I wasn't able to blog about it when it happened. It has taken me months to be able think about this incident without becoming livid all over again. Let me set the scene for you:
I babysat a 2 year old little spitfire for about 5 months last spring. The following consists of my final day of that assignment. I put her down for her nap in the playpen (mistake #1) in my bedroom. (mistake # 2). She was in there for about 2 hours and I only checked on her once (mistake #3) and I only listened at the door, I didn't go in (mistake #4, the fatal and final).
When I did go to get her up, because I heard her and knew she was up, my world (at least my bedroom) was forever changed. Let me preface all of this with the fact that I had a cold, my nose was completely stuffed up, and I couldn't smell a thing.
I opened the door. The playpen was laying on its side. All the books from the bottom 3 shelves of the bookcase were on the floor. The floor was also covered in Husbands work papers. As well as gum wrappers. Initially, I was quite upset. I put this little girl in time out. (I had been babysitting her long enough that she knows the rules of the house and one of those is to come and get me when she wakes up and gets out of the bed. On this day, however, she chose to ignore that rule. Partly, I think because she never actually slept.)
While she was in time out I noticed something funny. There was something on her shirt and on closer inspection, I realized it was poo. But not too much. I got her cleaned up and changed her diaper and then went to clean my room. As I was setting the playpen upright I noticed streaks on the netting. And my heart sunk. And my stomach rose. And I gagged a little. She had wiped her poo down the sides of the playpen. I know what you're thinking: that is horrible. But really, I'm just getting started. I began combing the room. It was EVERYWHERE. It was on my sheets. On husband's pillows. On the walls. On some of my books. Including Harry Potter (curse that child). It was on the carpet. It was on husbands work papers. It was on my body pillow. It was on my nightstand.
Had this occurred with one of my own children, well I have made a commitment to love them forever. I had made no such promise to this child. And so she was given the longest time out of her life and returned to the custody of her parents never to be allowed in my home EVER again. And for the first time in my life I was grateful for a cold: I couldn't smell a thing. And according to husband, the entire house stunk.
So no, this was not the worst day of my life. But it is definitely in the top ten. Right behind the ER trips. Hopefully, as more time passes it will drop further and further on the list. And maybe someday I might look back and laugh. Just not today.