Just a Poo Story Niblet.
Ew. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t use the words “poo” and “niblet” in the same sentence…
Live and learn.
This morning, on the Silly Mom Thoughts Facebook Fanpage, I wrote:
Love is never having to say “I’m sorry, I crapped on you.” Apparently, my kids love me… a lot.
It turned out to be a huge tease and I received a couple of comments from readers who were anticipating a juicy poo story.
Hm… “juicy” and “poo” shouldn’t go together in a sentence either.
Noted.
The problem is, that my Facebook update wasn’t necessarily meant as a precursor to a hilarious poop story. It was more reminiscing on my part, of past poo trauma.
That’s not to say, of course, that I don’t have a recent poop story. These stories happen almost daily, so I figured you’d all get tired of them.
After reading the responses to my Facebook update, I can see that isn’t so.
I don’t promise much from the following poo story, but hopefully it satisfies your poo craving.
Poo… craving?
What is it with me and the disgusting word pairings?
Onward.
I’m not sure if I have mentioned it here, especially since I’m in shock that it has happened, and I fear that I’ll jinx myself if I admit it, but Lily is potty trained.
When they say girls, and especially second children, are easier to potty train, they aren’t kidding. At least that’s what I’ve discovered. I can’t even really take credit for Lily’s potty prowess. One day, I decided I was tired of changing her diapers and given that she had shown interest in the potty, decided we’d give big girl undies a shot.
There were a few accidents, but for the most part, she trained herself. I didn’t ask her every five minutes if she had to go. I didn’t push the issue. I simply told her that we were done with diapers and she could choose to go on the potty like a big girl, or have yucky wet underwear. This girl likes it when the ball is in her court. I like it when I can make her think the ball is in her court, but really, it’s allll mine.
In less than three- maybe four- days, she was poopin’ and peein’ like an old pro.
Occasionally, there were (and still are) accidents. But, that’s par for the course and it’s nothing big, especially since it’s summertime and they seem to happen outside most of the time anyway.
She has also been having a leeettle bit of trouble figuring out the whole pooping mechanism of her body, especially since this girl pounds down fruit like it’s going out of style, thus creating… well, you have kids. You know.
Yesterday morning, Lily was in the living room watching cartoons.
Colby and I were in the kitchen playing with PlayDoh when she walked in, stinking to high heavens.
“Oh, Lily,” I sighed, peeking to the back of her pajama bottoms and seeing a very soup-y looking mass seeping through.
She looked up at me with those big blue eyes and, before I could say any more, pouted, “I go poop in’da pants.”
“Yeah, I know, baby,” I replied, guiding her to the bathroom and standing her in the tub.
I peeled her pants off of her, rinsed them in the tub, and washed down her whole lower half, and hands, for good measure. After she was cleaned, it dawned on me:
She wasn’t wearing underwear.
Where does poop go when there are no undies to catch it?
For a second, I wondered if I had gotten lucky enough that the only poo I would find was that which I had already scrubbed from her buns.
You, as my readers and fellow parents know, that absolutely wasn’t the case.
Sure enough, when I walked to the living room where she had been standing, watching TV, I saw two enormous piles of duke.
Forever attempting to find the silver lining in situations, two thoughts immediately popped to mind while I dropped poop piles into plastic bags and tossed them out:
- At least the babies weren’t awake to get into it, and
- This merely solidified my reasoning behind why we don’t have, and don’t want, pets.
The rest of the day was uneventful on the poop front. Zander is miserable, sprouting several teeth at once, and I consoled him much of the afternoon. He did decide that he loved me enough to poop on me while I was consoling him, but thankfully, that stayed contained in his diaper.
I hope that satiates your need for a poop story. I wish there had been more drama surrounding it, but my sanity is teetering as it is, I’m not so sure I could’ve handled something worse.
Oh, wait. There is one more gross thing:
This morning, I watched as Zander came around the corner, our toilet bowl scrubber handle in his mouth.
Yeah. Yuck.
I swear, my kids are going to have the best immune systems.
