“I want to do a poo SO BIG that it goes all the way to the ceiling!!” Daniel (3) told me randomly the other day while I was driving down the road.
“That’s a pretty big poo buddy,” I told him, attempting to stifle my laughter.
“Actually, I want to do a poo SO BIG it goes to SPACE! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, TEN POOPS IN SPACE!!!” He told me, clearly excited about the prospect of space poop.
“Wow, that’s a lot of poop,” I told him.
“Actually, zero poops in space.” Okay then.
Maybe we’ll just work on trying to get it in the potty for now…..
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Everyone knows that number one is code for pee and number two is synonymous with poop, but what, exactly, is number three you ask?
I think this video explains it best:
Hannah was just a baby when that commercial came out, so naturally, I found it hilarious and actually understood what they were talking about. I can imagine that a non-parent/caregiver/nanny would watch it and think what the heck. Poo explosions were a regular occurrence when the kids were babies, but I haven’t had to worry about it for at least a year. Until recently….
Last week:
“Mommy, I need to go to the toilet!” Daniel tells me urgently at a friend’s house. I pick him up and run to the bathroom. At home he wears undies, but when we’re out, I don’t really want to deal with poopy underwear, so he wears a pull up. I don’t really want to deal with poopy underwear any time, but it’s so much worse when we’re out. Not to mention the pooped on garments sit there fermenting in a bag until we get home if he poops in undies while we are out. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I pull down his pants and underwear as fast as humanely possible and lift him up onto the toilet. He wants down less than a second after I put him up.
“Nope.” He tells me. False alarm. He knows there is a poo coming soon, but he’s not so good with the actual timing. I know there must be one coming soon too, he hasn’t pooped in 2-3 days, and he’s a daily sort of boy. The two tiny little wet fart type accidents he’s already had today make me think he’s holding it in and has a bit of overflow. Yes, that’s a thing. I know all about it because Hannah used to hold it in. She still does sometimes, but I can tell when she’s doing it and make her go sit on the toilet. I guess she figures if she’s already on the toilet she might as well just go, so it’s not really a problem anymore.
I think Daniel is doing it because he doesn’t want to poop his undies or pull up. But he doesn’t want to go on the toilet either.
We have about five more false alarms at my friends house before we have to leave to go to a different friend’s house, one who’s house I’ve never been to before.
He has another false alarm there before I notice he’s lingering in the bathroom all by himself. Just standing there, away from everyone. A quick check of the pull up reveals he’s already started his poop, which is fine, I’m just glad he’s finally pooping.
“I need to go to the toilet!” He tells me. But it’s not just a turtle head, there is already some poop in his pull up. If I try to get if off, then put him on my friend’s toilet, I’m likely to get poop all over the toilet seat. Not exactly what I want to do at someone else’s house.
“There’s already some in your pull up buddy, just finish your poop in your pull up.” I tell him. If we were at home, I’d get poop everywhere and put him on the potty or toilet anyway.
I leave him to it and he stands in the bathroom by himself for ages before finally coming out.
“I’ll be right back, I just have to go to the car to get a new pull up and some wipes.” I tell my friend as Daniel sits down on the new carpet next to Hannah.
“Ok buddy, let’s go change your bottom.” I tell him whilst picking him up.
That’s when I notice; the 2-3 days worth of poop isn’t contained in his pull up. Not even remotely. We’re definitely talking about number threes here. My eyes widen in horror as I realize there is a big brown spot of poop on my friend’s beige carpet. Her brand new beige carpet.
My mind races. Should I help clean up the carpet poop? Should I run Daniel into the bathroom and deal with carpet poop later? I can’t believe there is poop on the carpet. I should clean it up, but what about Daniel? Won’t he just sit down again and make more poop spots? My mind is made up in a second.
Holding Daniel by the armpits out in front of me as if he’s toxic, I run him to the bathroom, where there is a tiled floor, to change his clothes and clean him up. The poop is half way up his back and oozing out both sides of the nappy. I don’t even know where to begin.
“Do you have a hose outside?” I ask my friend.
She looks at me like I’ve gone crazy. It is the middle of winter after all. “Yes, but you don’t need to do it outside.”
“Can I give him a bath here?”
“Of course.” I think she is stifling laughter.
It’s impossible to peel his clothes off without spreading the poop, so now there is poop not only on his back, bottom, stomach, and legs, but also his shoulders. The poo clothes are put in a plastic bag, which will have to ferment until I get home. We somehow managed to get poop all over the bathroom floor as well. There is even some on the bottom of Daniel’s shoe which has made poop tread marks on the tiles. The once white bathtub is streaked with brown.
Daniel is standing there, naked in the tub, delighted that he gets to have a bath in a foreign bathtub. I don’t really want to get poop on someone else’s wash cloth, so I splash water on Daniel and wipe him down with my bare hand. Once all the poop is off him, I use the warm water and my hand to get it all down the drain of the bathtub before using the baby bath I find on the side of the bathtub to wash both Daniel and the bathtub.
Daniel plays in the bath while I clean the poop off the bathroom floor and finally he and the bathroom are clean. Number three has been dealt with.
Meanwhile, my friend, who is something like 39 weeks pregnant, is in her lounge room with Hannah and her daughter (who is under 2), cleaning up the soiled carpet.
“It’s a poo volcano!” I hear her say. She is using vinegar and baking soda to fix her new carpet while Hannah’s giggles fill the room. Luckily my friend has the kind of humour that finds poop hilarious.
Note to self: Always put Daniel on the toilet, even if at someone else’s house and pooping has already commenced.
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Daniel and I are eating dinner together by ourselves. Hannah is at Grandma and YaYa’s house for her weekly sleepover and Aaron is out with work friends because he is moving offices for a couple of months on Monday.
Daniel isn’t very hungry because Grandma filled him up when dropped Hannah off. He is picking brown rice slowly, but mostly he’s just playing with it, and he’s not touching his Indian butter chicken. I am about halfway through mine when Daniel suddenly stops twirling his food around his plate. He forgets about everything else as a look of concentration crosses his face.
“QUICK DANIEL, LET’S GET TO THE POTTY!!” I tell him, trying, but failing to contain the urgency in my voice. I don’t exactly want to be attempting to remove poop that’s been amalgamated with undies in the middle of dinner.
“I DON’T WANT TO!!!!” He screams. But I don’t listen. By the time he’s finished with his sentence, we’re already half way to the bathroom, despite his flailing arms and legs.
I pull down his pants and undies and put him straight onto his little potty. The concentration fills his face again, this time laced with a look of excitement. His protests cease and the room is silent.
Plop.
“I DID IT!!! I DID A POO ON THE POTTY!!!!” He stands up excitedly and looks at in the toilet bowl. “THERE’S A POOP IN THERE! I DID A POOP!”
He is jumping up and down with huge smile on his face as I give him a chocolate Easter egg and promise that we will go to Kmart tomorrow to get a pirate tent.
Daniel
“Good job buddy, let’s go finish our dinner now.” We walk towards the table, but before we get there, my elation is replaced by annoyance. Our bowls are empty.
“ROSIE!!!!!!” She comes bounding in as if nothing happened. “NO! You DO NOT get on the table!” I tell her whilst pointing my finger and furrowing my brow. “OUTSIDE.” I tell her sternly. Little thief.
I was wrong though. I thought it would take just one poop in the toilet and Daniel would lap up the praise, rewards, and excitement and continue to poop in the toilet, just like he did with pees. But he didn’t. He’s only pooped in the toilet once since then, and again only because I recognised poo face and ran him to the toilet at Grandma’s house.
Time is out though. The cruise is tomorrow. I had an alternate plan: putting Daniel in kids club with a pull up, and then telling the carers to call me if he needs a nappy change, until Jess pointed out that we won’t have any phone reception. You know, since we’ll be at sea. I’m still not giving up. Daniel is a sweet, charming boy, so he is going to tell them that he really wants to go to kids club with Hannah. Maybe there won’t be that many kids and they’ll like him so much that they will take him despite his lack of toilet skills. How can anyone say no to a 2 year old that tells you how much he wants to be there all by himself? He has incredible language skills. I’m not giving up. He will have fun there. He really, really, really wants to go to kids club. Hannah really wants him to go to kids club (she is looking forward to kids club the most out of everything on the entire cruise), and I really want him to go. You know what they say, where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.
Also, there won’t be any posts whilst I’m away, except the guest post on Thursday that is set to auto post for me, since the only internet available is ridiculously expensive.
BON VOYAGE! I’ll post lots of pictures when I get back 🙂 YAY I’M SO EXCITED!
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“Mom, there are lights on at the hospital,” Hannah tells me as we drive by. I’m not sure why that should be weird since it is the middle of the day and the sky is full of clouds, but she says it as if it’s something super strange.
“There are always lights on at the hospital Sweetie. There is always someone that needs to go to the hospital, no matter what time of day it is. The hospital is open all day and all night. Sometimes babies are even born in the middle of the night.
“Really?” She asks me, wanting to hear more.
“Yeah, remember before Daniel was born, I was in the hospital all night? I didn’t have him in the middle of the night, I had him in the morning, but some ladies have babies at night.”
“So which one of us did you do a poo with when we were coming out?” She asks me with interest.
I try unsuccessfully to contain my laughter that is slightly laced with mortification. “How did you know about that?”
The cheeky eavesdropper
“I heard you telling someone a long time ago.” Probably The Jess or Romana. I don’t generally go around telling people that.
“That was when Daniel was coming out,” I tell her between laughs.
“Why did you poo?”
“Well, you have to push really hard to get a baby out, and if you don’t do a poo before it’s time for the baby to come out, then with all that pushing, a poo comes out too.”
Note to self, don’t talk about stuff when Hannah is even remotely in earshot.
And FYI, it’s normal to poo during birth. Midwives take care of it as it happens and the mom is usually none the wiser. The only reason I know is because I felt some wiping while I was pushing. A giant baby head nestled against your perineum kind of trumps any feeling of poop coming out.
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“Mommy, ______!” I heard Daniel calling from his bedroom during nap time. I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but from the tone, I thought it might actually warrant checking on him. He’d been in there for an hour, but judging from all the chatter, laughing, and toys banging, hadn’t slept a wink.
I paused the science-y youtube video I was watching whilst doing the dishes (because if you’re going to do the dishes, you might as well watch something on the ipad at the same time so it’s not so mindless and boring) and put my ear to his door.
“MOMMY I NEED A WIPE!!!!!!!!” He yelled.
I couldn’t think of a single situation in which needing a wipe during nap time could possibly be a good thing.
As I opened the door, he held his hands out over the cot rail to show me, and then told me that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Indeed, he wasn’t. He was wearing a nappy though. At least that’s something, especially considering the smell that assaulted my nose as soon as I stepped into his room.
Here we go again. This time, I immediately knew why he wanted a wipe. I had no grand illusions about him getting into chocolate or Vegemite. I knew those outstretched arms and parted fingers were indeed covered in poop. Not from a leaky nappy, or a number three, but from my silly little boy shoving his hands down his nappy after doing a poop. You’d think he would have learned his lesson last time, but no….
After disinfecting him, I went back to the scene of the crime to assess the damage. There on the bed, sat his socks, covered in poop. How exactly do socks bear the brunt of a poop incident? The cot itself had a little bit of poop on the bars, clearly from him holding on as he called out to me. The sheets had the tiniest bit of poop. But the socks? Covered in it.
I can only deduce that he thought socks bore a mighty resemblance to towels and used them in to clean his hands. They would have already been off of his feet, he takes them off every singe nap time. Judging by the amount of poop on the socks, he did a pretty good job, but in the wiping process, smeared the little bit that remained on his hands all over them.
Seriously Daniel, please stop putting your hands down your pants!
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“Choo-choo!” I looked over at Daniel. He was laying on his side playing with his wooden train set. He seems to think playing trains is best when laying on his side. It’s his go to train playing position. I smiled to myself at his cuteness and went back to washing the dishes.
“Big mess,” I heard him say a few minutes later. As I turned around, he wiped his hands on the carpet and then stood back up, arms outstretched in front of him, staring at his hands.
What has he gotten into? I thought to myself. I didn’t leave any of Hannah’s paints or pens out. Did he find some chocolate? Oh goodness. No, please, not that.
But it was.
“DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I yelled to Daniel as I practically flew around the kitchen counter to where he stood, staring at his poopy hands.
“AARON, I NEED HELP!” I couldn’t help but yell, this was a dire situation.
His fingers were saturated in poop. The carpet bore streaks of poop where Daniel had wiped his hands, and somehow, there was a little mound of poop on a train track, with some scattered fragments on another piece of track. Thank goodness we have a bathtub. And disinfectant.
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“You need to go to the toilet Hannah. It’s not good to hold it in.” My words fell on deaf ears as Hannah once again sat on the floor, her face betraying her secret. It’s the same face she pulls when she’s doing a poo, except when she suddenly sits on the floor and makes the face, she’s not pooping her pants, she’s desperately holding it in. If I ask her why she’s holding it in, or if she is, she denies it or changes the subject.
I don’t know why she does it, but the poo suppressing has only been happening for the last month or so. At first I wasn’t really worried, she’d hold it in for a while and then go to the toilet a few hours later, perhaps the next day. Recently though, it’s been getting worse. Suddenly, she’d stop what she was doing and sit on the floor, silently clenching with all her mite with increasing frequency.
Often, a tiny bit of poo escapes during the clenching, upsetting her and perpetuating the cycle. Her stomach started protruding and not in a squashy, chubby sort of way. Her appetite was practically non-existant. Needless to say, we called the doctor. I was going to wait until yesterday when we could see our usual doctor, but she was floor sitting every half an hour or so and hadn’t pooped in a number of days, so I called the after hours doctors that come to our house.
He told me to give her plenty of fibre containing food like salad, and to drink plenty of water. The small accidental poops are apparently “overflow” that she just can’t hold in. Oh, and he told me to get some glycerol and put it up her bottom.
Yes. You read that right. The very thought of putting something up my child’s bottom was terrifying.
Getting an almost 4 year old to eat a bunch of salad is not exactly a walk in the park either, especially one who is not eating much of anything at the moment. Instead, I had to be creative. As soon as the doctor left, I looked up which foods contain lots of fibre and found that raspberries are full of it.
Hannah excitedly ate about 1/2 a cup of frozen raspberries after I told her they would help her poop. Next, I gave her the last of the apple crumble that we made because apples also have lots of fibre (and our apple crumble is not full of added sugar).
She really likes pasta without sauce, with frozen vegetables mixed through (and no, I don’t mean whilst cooking, I mean after the fact. She won’t eat cooked vegetables, frozen is her preferred vegetable state), so I bought some wholemeal pasta that has way more fibre than regular pasta. Peas have heaps too, even frozen ones.
For desert, I wanted to make black bean brownies not only because they are delicious, but also because black beans are packed with fibre. Unfortunately, they are also rare in these parts. I have only found one shop that stocks them but not frequently. Sigh.
Instead, we made peanut butter cookies. The ones whose main ingredient is chickpeas, which also have a lot of fibre, but not as much as black beans. I know, that sounds disgusting, but they are actually delicious. If they are warm, not so much if they are cold. Weird, right?
So they aren’t the most aesthetically pleasing, but they are delicious and good for you 🙂
And then came the dreaded suppository.
“Time for my medicine.” Hannah said happily. Since kid medicine pretty much tastes like lolly water, it seems more like a treat than a cure.
“Errrr…it’s not one that you drink baby, it goes in your bottom.”
She looked at me for a second, deep in thought. “It goes in my bottom!” She giggled. Apparently that’s funny. Probably because she’s never had anything up her bottom.
I put some lube on the small suppository, and it went right in. It didn’t hurt her, or cause any sort of discomfort. In fact, she wasn’t even fazed apart from saying it tickled. Phew, she won’t be scarred for life.
10 minutes later, Hannah took off down the hallway, running as fast as she could.
Trip. She went down face first and immediately started crying.
Oh no, she’s twisted her ankle.
Luckily, she didn’t.
“I had an accident!” She cried.
“That’s ok, you just had the special medicine in your bottom, we’ll just clean it up.” I didn’t realise it would work quite that fast.
The next day, she had 2 giant accidents at preschool, plus one on the toilet, then 2 at home, so I guess all that fibre and the suppository is working, and the backlog of poop is finally being freed.
I just hope she stops holding it in. The doctor said it’s quite common at her age (which makes me feel slightly better about the whole thing).
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The mid-semester test was worth 20% of my entire grade for Biodiversity. TWENTY percent! I fed the kids as soon as they woke up so I’d have plenty of time to get to uni an hour early for some pre-test study sans all of the “mommy, play with me! Mommy, when will you be finished?!” whinging from the kids.
“Alright kids, lets go pick out some clothes.” I told them after breakfast.
And then I felt the rumbling. It came on suddenly, vicious and without warning.
“Uh…I’ll just go to the bathroom first, then we’ll pick out some clothes.” I told them as I nearly pooped myself getting the 8 or so feet from the table to the bathroom.
I sat there for a while, freeing the contents of my stomach whilst feeling like I had 1o hungry pirañas all competing to eat me from the inside, making me sweat and sit on the toilet in a nearly fetal position.
“Ok, let’s go pick out your clothes.” I told them again when I was done.
And then it hit again.
And then again.
And then again.
I sent Aaron a freaking out text. “Boo, I’ve got the trots! I’ve gone 4 times in the last 20 minutes! How am I going to take a test when I can’t even get away from the toilet?!”
Luckily, it subsided after that. I managed to drop the kids off, later than planned, but still with a bit of time to study (or run to the toilet if needed) before the test.
Driving away from Daniel’s daycare, the petrol light came on. That’s ok, I have enough time to get petrol and still get to uni on time for the test, I thought to myself, annoyed that I’d forgotten to get petrol the day before. Seriously, I still have baby brain. I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached.
It was right then that I realised I forgot to transfer my wallet from my backpack (which I use as a nappy bag) to my school bag. Crap. Not to mention I’d need my ID to take the test anyway.
It’s ok, if I’m quick, I can get home, get the wallet, get petrol, and still get to uni on time.
And I did.
By 1 minute.
I finished the test in 10 minutes and got 90%. The average was 50%. I’m not trying to brag, I’m just super happy that I didn’t poop my pants, and studied enough to get a good grade.
As a reward, I went to the hairdresser to do something about the dirty dishwater coloured roots that extend halfway down my head followed by the blonde foils I got way back in the beginning of October. I was also in desperate need of a proper haircut. I’ve been attempting to cut my own side swept fringe but keep ending up looking like my hair got caught in a pencil sharpener. I asked for half a head of blonde foils, after internally debating myself as to whether I should go light or dark this winter.
This is what I got:
Don’t get me wrong, it looks ok, but so not what I asked for. I asked for blonde. Specifically, I asked for a warm blonde tone, but not brassy, and definitely not ashy. Somehow that translated to dying my entire head brown and then putting just one shade of blonde foils through the top. Usually when I get blonde foils they use three different shades so it looks more natural. Sigh.
But that’s nothing, hair grows, colour fades. Whatever.
The worst part is the ticket. Not so much the ticket itself, I deserve the ticket, but the fact that I got it speeding through a school zone. Yes, a school zone. I am horrified that I sped through a school zone. In my haste to get to uni before test time, I didn’t even think about the school zone on the four lane road I was driving on. The normal speed limit is 70k’s an hour. The 8-9:30 school time speed limit is 40k’s an hour. You get my drift here. That is a very big difference, which comes with a very big fine that I got in the mail the other day and nearly fell over when I saw it.
But as I said, I deserve the over $500 fine, and the 5 demerit points it carries, but I’m disgusted that I failed to even remotely think about anyone other than myself at that moment of time, and the school zone didn’t even reach my radar.
I definitely won’t make that mistake again.
Also, I think I might be a nervous pooper. I sure hope not. We’ll see when exam time comes again….
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“Daniel, time to get your jammies on. Come here you cheeky monkey!”
I went to the living room where he was giggling on the couch, please with himself for running away from his jammies.
“Daniel… I’m going to find you!” I giggled as I walked towards the couch.
“What have you been getting in….” My voice trailed off as I saw the mess all over the couch. At first glance, it looked like he’d found himself a nice chocolate oatmeal cookie, chewed on, then spat it out and smeared it all over the couch.
Except we didn’t have any chocolate oatmeal cookies. Or any chocolate or cookies for that matter.
He looked at me with a giant smile spread across his face, his legs, arms, covered in the stuff that resembled half eaten chocolate oatmeal cookies. It was all over the seat of the couch, the back of the couch, and the side cushion too.
As soon as my voice trailed off, I knew what it was. I don’t know how it happened. He was wearing a nappy. Not pants though. It was hot that day and we were at home, so he didn’t really need to wear pants.
I picked him up, with one of my arms under his armpits, and the other one holding his feet as if he were a calf at the rodeo. I tried to hold him as far away from my body as possible, but it didn’t matter. By the time we got to the bathroom, my pants were also covered in poop.
Did I mention we had 5 guests over for dinner at the time, and dinner was fresh off the BBQ (because we have a yard now and can actually have a BBQ) and ready to be served?
I stood Daniel in the bathtub, taking his nappy that had just as much poop on the outside as it did on the inside. Again, I’m not quite sure how that happened. As soon as I got it off and into a bag that I yelled for Aaron to bring me, I turned on the water.
Unfortunately, the bathtub did not come with a plug, so I have been using a silicone cupcake wrapper in the meantime. I did actually buy a plug, after measuring the hole it needs to fit into, but we all know how I suck at measuring, and the plug didn’t fit.
I adjusted the water temperature and saw Daniel’s arm going towards his bottom. “NO DANIEL! DON’T GRAB ANY….” But I was too late, he already had a fist full of poop.
One very soapy bath with rinsing straight from the tap rather than the bathwater later, Daniel was cleaned up. The bathtub was also scrubbed and disinfected, and the couch cushion covers are currently in the washing machine awaiting their third soak/wash cycle with laundry detergent and disinfectant. Hopefully I will be able to laugh at this incident in the near future, but now if I think about it, it just makes me cringe.
I will post something about moving and the new house soon, when I unpack the DSLR and can take some proper photos. Oh, and my debate is tomorrow. Trying not to wet my pants as we speak (er…write).
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Daniel is such a messy eater. I guess it’s not actually the eating part that’s messy, but more the playing part. Daniel finds it quite fun to wear his porridge bowl as a hat when he finishes most of his porridge. After eating an entire meal with his hands, Daniel’s preferred method of cleaning them off is wiping them in his hair. He also enjoys playing peek-a-boo by holding food on his eyes and then moving it down and shouting “Boo!”
Needless to say, he often needs a bath after breakfast. And then sometimes after lunch. And dinner too. Depending on what he ate, of course.
Yesterday morning was no different. With hair full of porridge bits, he definitely needed a wash. It’s so hot here at the moment, so after his bath, I let him run off out of the bathroom completely starkers and giggling.
“Is someone doing toots?” I heard Aaron ask the kids in the living room. “Someone is a bit…ooooooohhh no,” he said, exasperated.
“Boo! Boo Boo!” Aaron called to me in the bathroom. I didn’t need him to tell me what was going on. Common sense told me exactly what to expect.
I didn’t, however, expect Aaron to come in the bathroom, wooden toy train track in hand, smelly poop log precariously perched on top.
“At least he got it all on the track.” Aaron told me “There’s none on the carpet.”
“I don’t care, I’m scrubbing that carpet anyway. After I disinfect the train tracks.”
“I’ve never seen Daniel poop on a train track before!” Hannah giggled.
Note to self: Don’t let Daniel have nappy off time if he hasn’t yet done his morning poop. Sigh.
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Mommy Adventures 