Well, This Stinks

In honor of the great Shel Silverstein's birthday today, and because the depths of my nerdiness apparently know no limits, today's post comes to you in verse. 

Baby N was out good, asleep on my lap,
As I fried my brain with T.V.,

When up through the air, rose a terrible stench—

What could that nastiness be?

I gave a sniff in the diaperous region—

(The culprit I first suspected)

But the baby was as sweet as a fresh-powdered bum,

My hunch, it seemed, misdirected.

I carefully stood, put N in her swing,

And turned off Dr. Oz.

The reek still remained, taunting me, and

I had to know its cause.

I checked out the kitchen with its dishes and trash,

Sure I would find the source.

The can overflowed with veggies and rot

So I took it out, of course.

But alas when I entered my unkempt house,

The smell had not dispersed.

If anything, though I opened the windows,

The odor had grown worse.

I rolled up my sleeves and got to work,

Vowing to uproot the stink.

Maybe I’d find a forgotten sandwich

From when, I hated to think.

But there was no sandwich or abandoned diaper,

Or a long lost bowl of slaw. (Thank goodness).

I did, however, pass a mirror

And what do think you think I saw?

Well, I found the source of the Odorous Funk:

Not cheddar, nor swiss, nor brie.

Curdled breastmilk on my shoulder lie—

The source of the stench was me!

Ew! Double ew!