Actually, I doubt that it's never happened before. I'd certainly hope I'm not the lucky one-in-a-million, only person in the whole world that this has ever happened to.
On my first day at my new job, I got stuck working 14 hours in one day-- a 5 hour shift in the morning, then 9 hours from 6pm to 3am. No breaks either shift. I was away from my daughter for a good 16 hours that day, so she had several feedings where bottles replaced her diet of breastmilk, whereas on a normal day, she only has one or two servings of formula. This excessive formula, looking back on it, was probably the cause of my misfortune.
I woke up at after 2 hours of sleep to feed Sophie at 7 in the morning the next day, and was absolutely exhausted. I couldn't fall back to sleep, but still put Sophie in bed with me, so that I could rest and not have to really move in order to nurse. My mom had to leave for the day, but said if I got too overwhelmed, to just call her.
About 2pm, I called my mom. She answered the phone, and could hear Sophie fussing and crying a little in the background. "Mom, I just don't know what to do."
My mom imagined the worst: bleeding, vomiting, a punctured soft spot, etc. She had no idea.
The baby projectile-pooped.
I'm not kidding, or exaggerating. After almost a full day of formula, her poor delicate digestive system was completely wonked. I got out of bed finally to change Sophie, and in the midst of changing a terribly full diaper, I had her legs over her tummy to wipe, and I guess that gave just enough of a squeeze to pressure-force half a ton of mustard-yellow turd in an arching spray across an eight-foot section of changing table, floor, wall, window, French doors, wrought-iron plant-stands, and two innocent houseplants.
After standing in shock for a good 2 minutes ("Did that really happen?"), I finished cleaning up my daughter and put her on the floor to play. She wasn't particularly happy about that, but I was pretty sure the mess needed to be cleaned up before the acidic waste ate through the hard-wood floors.
I called my mom, still in a state of shock, and when she finally finished laughing, she told me just to take the plant stands and their respective charges outside, and she'd hose them down later. Everything inside was to be wiped down with bleach. I kid you not, it took half a roll of Clorox wipes. An eight-foot-square block of the floor had to be mopped, and then I mopped into the kitchen as well, just to be safe, because I had no idea exactly how far the field of minuscule wayward splatters could stretch.
Honestly, my mom really expected that I was exaggerating-- or had been holding Sophie bare-bottomed next to the changing table when she let loose, and was too embarrassed to admit it. However, the sheer volume of gunk on the plant stands, along with the indication of strong horizontal thrust in the splatter-pattern, indicated otherwise, and she had no choice but to believe me.
Moral of the story: You may think that keeping your baby covered while changing the diaper is only necessary with baby boys, but believe me, some sort of guard needs to be present whenever there is eminent possibility of a bowel movement. If these precautions are not heeded, be prepared to don a HazMat suit.