*Disclaimer: This blog entry shares the thoughts of my 3.5 year old son as well as some of my own. This is not for the faint of heart, those that never had children because they never wanted to change a diaper, or those that feel any sentence that contains the words “excrement,” “crap,” “potty,” or “poop” should not ever be written, much less read.
You were warned.
Here’s what happened.
The Banshee was quieter today, but now has a cough. And EVERY time she coughs, she starts wailing. Which makes her cough more.
So when she was blissfully quiet for ten minutes I used the time to get a few things done that just cannot be while a child is cling wrapped to you.
As I walked back into the kitchen the first thing I noticed was the stench. Then I saw her.
She was painting the tile with whatever had leaked out. Luckily mostly with her feet.
We had our version of a 2319.
I nearly had a panic attack and as I figured out the best way to even begin to solve this problem.
Thankfully CG was still at home and we were able to decontaminate Banshee (by placing her in a plastic grocery bag IN the shower, then removing the diaper, removing her from the bag, and immediately turning on the spray) and the house much faster and more efficiently than I could have alone (lots and lots of Clorox wipes and towels and scrubbing).
Then came afternoon. I feared the worst because The Tackler was overdue for a dirty diaper.
I always make him use the potty before nap, in hopes that THIS time, he will not wet the diaper he wears during nap. He rarely will ever pee in his pants unless unconscious. That he’s done well on for a while.
No, his issue is Pooping. For NINE months we’ve had “Please Hit Me In the Head With a Bat So I Don’t Have To Deal With This Anymore” frustration getting him to use the potty for this activity. And for the majority of that (until the last two months), it was been an Epic Failure of Titanic Proportions.
Then came Poopalooza. Which I’ll talk about in a later blog.
Yeah, I know. You can’t wait.
But lately, perhaps because of the bribery of his favorite TV shows, or he is FINALLY growing to dislike the sensation of smushed crap in his pants, he is having more and more successes.
To say that my jaw could’ve been scraped off of the bathroom floor when I realized he had actually POOPED in the potty during his normal pee break, is not far off. High fives were dispensed. The “I did it!” dance was done. Chuggington was watched.
Because in the past, he would pee in the potty, then wait until five minutes into nap time and fill his diaper. Like clockwork, but if you tried to reset the clock, it just happened 20 minutes later.
And then tonight it happened.
I was dealing with a slightly happier Banshee and heard The Tackler calling me.
I glanced up the stairs and found him at the top. Pantless.
“Sweetie, where are your pants?”
He ran into the bathroom.
“I went poopoo in the potty, Mommy!” The smile on his face was huge, beaming with pride for this monstrous accomplishment.
And sure enough, he had made yet another sizable donation to our local sewage system. I was in awe. TWICE in one day!
“Good job! You went poop in the potty ALL BY YOURSELF! I am SO proud of you!” I heaped on the praise in triple and quadruple helpings, praying this would be The Way of Things To Come.
“Look, the little one is on top. It’s the baby poop. That one is on the bottom. That’s the mommy poop.”
“I see.” I smiled and tried to contain my laughter. He was into anthropomorphizing things lately. Rainbows. Penguins. Ice cream cones. And now his excrement.
“The mommy and the baby poop are snuggling.”
Now there’s something you don’t hear every day.