Ah, sh*t! Its a blow-out.

We were talking to LaLa and Pop-Pop (my mother and father) on Skype when Evie decided to sit on the floor opposite of me. We had the laptop on the coffee table so I could fully capture her antics as she danced, walked, ran, and just plain fidgeted during the phone call.
Suddenly, "Pbbbllrpt!" Evie farted and gasped, "Oh no!"
I look at her, start laughing and reply, "Yeah, that was YOU. YOU farted!"
She started to return my smiled but still looked startled.
A few minutes later (amidst hugs from behind, little hands clasping my neck), I smell something strangely unfamiliar and unpleasant... its sh*t.
I look at Evie's pants and before it even registers in my brain what's going on, I see her shorts are darker in color (wet) and they look a little brown (they were royal blue).
I swoop her up (upside down in an airplane style - a style appropriate for a poopy toddler) and whisk her out of the room yelling behind me at the computer screen, "Bye! I gotta go! Signing off!"
As I left the room I could her my mom and dad discussing what she saw... Evie had sh*t running down her legs!
I put her on the changing table, belly-side down, before deciding to stand her up to pull things off. Where do you begin when your kid has poop covering every possible area you could put them down on? Legs, butt, bottoms of feet... she was covered in drippy poop!
I scooped (yes SCOOPED) things off of her and briskly cleaned up what I could with wipes before throwing her in the tub for a rigorous under carriage cleaning. I threw clothes in the sink, the changing pad cover in the wash and noticed the spots all over the living room rug. Ugh, poop prints, ...er... foot prints.
Evie grabbed a paper towel off the spool I placed on the floor and began to settle down next to an obvious spot. She had seen me clean up Puck's puke before so she grabbed the Resolve (also on the floor) without hesitation. She didn't have the dexterity to squirt the bottle but did help me blot up the freshly lathered spots I created. When Evie realized her cleaning limitations, she stood there wanting to help out. I gave her hand fulls of towels and told her "trash." She ran off to the kitchen, threw them away and came back for more.
Ah, *sigh*. I know this is just the first of many poopy chapters yet to come (especially with potty training on the horizon).