Wet T-Shirt Night... And Not The Good Kind

"Diaper sprayer... That is a first," said the Roto-Rooter man at 10:30 p.m.

I had tried to install it myself and it went horribly awry. I ended up doused in toilet water - and I mean doused. We're talking wet T-shirt contest style here.

Oh and in tears. I was doused in toilet water and in tears. Here's the story that is only funny in hindsight.

After a nice dinner with Clayton, I decided to get ahead on chores in preparation for my mom's visit this weekend. On my list: laundry, finish painting the changing table and shelves, wrap Baby Mo's birthday gift, and if I got ahead of the game, install that diaper sprayer. 

I hadn't used the diaper sprayer that was sent to me for my cloth diaper challenge because it didn't fit our New York City apartment's toilet. Since moving into the new house, I had been eager to install it in Baby Mo's bathroom.

For those of you that don't know, this is a diaper sprayer. You use it to spray the poop off of your diapers before you throw them out or wash them. You are supposed to dispose of all baby poop before disposing of diapers or washing reusables. Throwing poop in the landfill is a health hazard. Most people don't do that but they should. Anyway, I digress.

I followed the instructions on the package but when I turned the water valve back on, the toilet started showering me in the face like a polite reminder.

This is not correct. Please go get help.

I ignored the reminder. The package said to tighten the valves if there was leaking. I kept tightening but the spray got worse. So bad in fact that it soaked up three towels, and eventually went off like a geyser all over me.

PANIC!

Now I decide I must get Clayton, who is recovering from leg surgery yesterday and knows nothing about plumbing.

"Honey," I said faux-calmly, walking down the stairs dripping wet with wrench in my hand, "I need you. Like right now. Immediately. It's urgent."

He limped up the stairs and stopped in his tracks at the sight of our leaking toilet and his insane drenched wife.

"Why did you just go and do this? I can't fix this. Get a plumber here now!"

Ladies, you know the fantasy. If I can just do this by myself he will be so impressed with me and I will be liberated from having to ask him to do handy things like this for me. Key word here: fantasy.

Roto-Rooter, God bless that company, showed up in about 15 minutes. The nice man did not even really know what a diaper sprayer was until he got upstairs. He noticed that the package was missing a washer and that was why the sprayer was leaking. He got one out of his truck and fixed it in about 10 minutes, all the while trying not to chuckle at me.

"Ah new home owners," he said, shaking his head while twisting my wrench under the toilet. He stopped to look at said wrench and said, "And these are somebody's dad's..."

It is true. The wrench was likely purchased from a hardware store in 1957 before Home Depot ever existed by my dear sweet father-in-law Don.

When I ran downstairs to recount the story with Clayton he was embarrassed.

"My good tools are still in storage!" he said defiantly.

I told the plumber that my husband was embarrassed about the tools and he said, "I wouldn't be embarrassed. It means that they're good tools."

After a few minutes the sprayer was successfully installed and I gotta say, it is kind of neat! I wonder about its potential as a bidet?

"So I don't even know what to call this job," said the plumber when he was done. "We charge $52 for emergency response so I'm just going to charge you for that and chalk the rest up to experience."

So I stumped a plumber tonight. One for the books. Maybe even the baby book? I could put the receipt in Baby Mo's? I'll consider it while I shower off this toilet water.