Spoiler Alert: This blog post contains quite a bit of bathroom banter, so if that’s not your thing you might want to check back later. You’ve been warned!
And so we begin…
We’ve made great strides in our potty training world since the last post! Junior has embraced the potty at home and finally decided that using the potty at daycare is also acceptable. So this weekend we ditched the daytime diapers and covered his rear in spiffy new Jake & the Neverland Pirates underwear. He was psyched, and for fear of having to remove his prized undies, he willingly sat on the potty throughout the day. Only one accident that evening, and I take full blame because my heated game of cornhole apparently took priority over checking on Junior’s bladder. Oops.
On Monday Junior strolled into daycare with a little spring in his step, knowing that his big boy tush was far too cool to be crammed into a diaper. Off I went, fingers crossed that he didn’t take ten steps back and decide the potty was evil. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that he only had one accident at the end of the day – I’ll take it. So we headed home to eat some dinner and play outside for a little while.
After a walk around the neighborhood, me pulling the dog with one hand and the wagon with the other, we decided to goof around a little bit longer on the driveway. The dog was roaming in and out of the garage and Junior was jumping on his little trampoline. I got a whiff of something gross and chastised the dog for eating out of the cat box again. I don’t know what it is about big dumb dogs, but cat poo is quite appealing to them. I kept telling Annie to get lost because her breath stunk.
I looked down and noticed that Junior had dribbled in his shorts so that was perfect timing to head upstairs and get cleaned up for bed. In we go, Annie the dog following close behind and breathing her hot poop breath on us. “Damn Annie! Eat this treat and get a drink of water!” I said with disgust as I tossed her a cookie.
If there was a vinyl record playing somewhere in the background, this would be the exact moment something scratches across it, signifying a stop-you-in-your-tracks situation. Oh God… Annie didn’t eat cat poop, Junior pooped in his underwear. That’s what I had smelled for the last 20 minutes as he bounced up and down and all around on his trampoline. Dear lord, I was scared to look.
My husband is traveling nonstop for work right now, so I’m temporarily playing the role of single mom during the week. Normally this isn’t a big deal, but last night I would have given anything to do the daddy handoff and find a reason to go to Wal-Mart. But since that wasn’t an option I took a deep breath, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work.
There’s nothing like seeing your first child’s first poop smashed into a pair of (formerly) pristine, white toddler briefs. I immediately think of Mr. Hanky, the South Park character we all know and love. Gross, I know. I’ve never missed diapers so much in my life. I think I panicked at first because after I got Junior somewhat cleaned up I looked at the soiled underpants and didn’t know what to do. Throw them away? No, that doesn’t sound right. You can’t just throw out underwear every time there’s an accident. No, you’ve gotta get the poop off and get them into the washing machine stat. So that’s what I did. I washed the poop off. In the sink… DUMB. Come on mom! You’re an intelligent, educated person! The poop goes in the toilet, not the sink! Now it’s starting to clog up the drain and stink to high heaven. Get that poop in the toilet and put some Drano in there! It was all happening so fast. You can only imagine what else was running through my head: Don’t let Junior sit on anything because he still has poop on his bum. Don’t let him touch me anymore because I already have poop on my leg. God I hope that dog isn’t chewing up the furniture downstairs since nobody’s watching her. How much poop is glued to this tiny pair of underwear?!
I finally got it under control. Poop was now in the toilet, sink was cleaned out, Drano was poured, rinsed underwear was in the washing machine (sorry husband, with some of your dirty laundry), and my precious, confused child was happily splashing in the tub. Things started looking up and smelling better. We ended the night with a couple of bedtime stories and a quick lesson on the importance of putting poop in the potty. As we said our prayers I secretly prayed that he would never, ever, ever poop in his underwear again. I don’t think my prayer will be answered… But next time, for the sake of my gag reflex and my indoor plumbing, I think I’ll just toss the dirty underpants in the Diaper Genie and move on.