Family legends often begin in the strangest ways, don't they? Sometimes you're just sitting there, minding your own business and the legend pounces on you, grabbing you by the nape of the neck and shaking you hard enough to rattle your teeth.
We were just sitting there, Logan and I. I eating my pancakes and watching a video about the writer's strike (Which is very funny, by the way.), Logan smiling up at me. I looked down and smiled back, enjoying the moment when It happened.
Logan pooped so much, so long, so prodigiously that it was awesome in its intensity. It was The Miracle Poop. He pooped so hard and so well that he pooped my pants. No really! The miracle? Although fully dressed in shirt, pants, socks and diaper he managed to miss all of his own clothing, entirely. Yet there I was, looking down on him lovingly and wondering what that growing sensation of warmth in my lap was. Reaching down between us with a tentative hand I found out soon enough.
Filled with equal parts laughter and horror, I handed him off to Eric to clean up while I went to go have my first shower of the day.
Guaranteed it won't be my last.
Eric told me of the miraculously clean clothes which I verified with my own eyes.
And thus the story begins. Years from now he'll be telling it to his own kids:
"Daddy! Daddy! Tell us again how you pooped Gramma's pants!"