The first poop

2 weeks ago:

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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Copyright 2014 Sheri Thomson

There’s pee on the floor

“Choo Choo!!!!”  I say as excitedly as I can possibly force myself to whilst moving my arms around my sides like that straight thing that goes across old train wheels to make them go all at the same time.  “It’s potty train time.”

“I DON’T WANT TO!”  Daniel yelled.

I try numerous tactics to make going potty (and getting to the potty) fun:  potty train, bug potty (he really likes bugs), bribery, etc. but none of them work.  Instead, Daniel prefers to wear no underpants  or nappy and then pees on the floor.  Or the bed, or lounge, wherever he is at the time, really.

Finally I am able to coax him into wearing undies after I buy a pack of way overly priced Thomas the Tank Engine underwear. They do nothing to get him to sit on the potty though.  He still pees where he stands and then walks around with wet undies without a care in the world.

I can see that he knows exactly when he needs to pee.  He stood in the bath one day, looked at his penis, and then watched as he soiled the bathwater.  After that, I notice the he often stops and looks at his crotch region, even though it is now covered in Thomas underpants, before peeing all over the floor quickly followed by walking away as if nothing happened.  He is just being stubborn and won’t sit on the potty.

Time is running out, so I lay down my nice-y nice-y tactics and go for something I know he will respond to: threats and bribery.

“Potty time,” I tell him cheerfully.

“NO, I DON’T WANT TO, ” he yells stubbornly.

“Well, you can either sit on the potty, or go in time out, your choice.”

He stands there for a couple seconds deciding his best course of action, before happily stating that he’ll sit on the the potty like it was his idea in the first place.  He runs to the bathroom with a smile on his face and sits on his little potty with glee.  Why didn’t I think of this before?

He sits there while I read him an entire Thomas book, but nothing happens.  We repeat the process every hour.  I know that as soon as he pees in the potty once, he will get it, so I wait patiently, reading the same 10 or so Thomas books over and over again for days. He’s finally happy about sitting on the potty, and I’m happy because that is progress.

One day, Daniel runs to the bathroom, opens the door by himself, and then stays in there for a while.  At first, I think he’s going potty, but he comes out saying nothing, so I say nothing too.  He must have been playing with his bath toys.

“Come on buddy, time to sit on the potty.” I tell him a few minutes  later.  We get in the bathroom and I open the lid on his little potty.  “There’s pee in there!” I exclaim.  “You did a pee in there all by yourself!”  That’s when I notice that his dark blue undies are wet at the front.  The wet patch blends in so well with the dry that it’s hardly noticeable.

“Yeah, I did.” He said, as if it were nothing.

So what that he forgot to pull his undies down, he actually peed on the potty!

I make a big fuss and give him a lollipop which he is delighted about. Plus, I’m right, it only takes one pee in the potty and from then on, he consistently pees in there.

It’s so nice not having to clean pee off everything all day.

Poo is another story.  He has no problems pooping in his undies and then walking around in it as if it’s not sticking to his butt and smelling disgusting.

He still likes running around with no undies on sometimes, which sometimes equates to pooping on the floor.  Usually he waits until we go out to poop because he is wearing a nappy.  It’s kind of a running joke with the creche ladies at church.  Every time he is in there he poops.  They only have to come out and look at me and I know they want me to come change his nappy.

We only have 18 days left.  18 days to somehow get Daniel to poop in the potty.  18 more days, other wise he can’t go in the kids club on the cruise the kids and I are going on with a pregnant Aunty Jess.  18 more days or he’ll either have to tag along  with Jess and I all the time on the boat (which means Hannah probably would too), or I’ll have to pay for a baby sitter, which wouldn’t be nearly as fun as kids club.  They won’t be in kids club all day everyday, just for a few hours each day.  It’s fun for them, they love stuff like that, plus Jess and I can relax without worrying about kids falling overboard, in the pool, or running off with strangers.

18 days.  Fingers are crossed.  Bribes are being upped.

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Copyright 2014 Sheri Thomson

That’s not water

I keep the bathroom door shut. Mostly at all times. Hannah is big enough to open and shut the door as she needs. The exception of course, is when I’m putting water in the bathtub and getting the kids ready for their evening bath.

Usually Daniel is content  ridiculously happy to stand at the side of the bath and eagerly watch the water  level rise as he flaps and squeals in delight like he’s trying to flag down a passing toy boat.

Not the other day. Hannah was half stuck in her shirt, one arm in, one out, the head hole half up her nose, as she tried to remove 2 shirts over her big head at the same time.

“Mommy, can you help me?” She asked

“Of course sweetie.” Giggling “Are you stuck????!!!!”

Meanwhile, Danny, mischievous as he is, took the mom-is-busy-with-Hannah opportunity to get to Hannah’s potty as fast and stealthily as he possibly could. No worries, it was house cleaning day, and I had scrubbed that potty just a couple of hours before. But I still don’t let him play with it. I don’t want him to think it’s ok. Yuck.

“Daniel, no, we don’t play with the potty!” I said in vain as he lifted the lid and shoved his chubby almost-1-year-old hand inside.

And then I saw it.

But it was too late.

As I rushed over, he turned his head, looking at me with that gleeful I’m-so-proud-of-myself smile that is so big, he has to squint his eyes to make room for his cheeks. He made a joyous noise and splashed his hand  in the pee some more.

All in the space of a couple seconds.

Thank goodness it was bath time. And thank God it wasn’t poop.

Ick.

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If I won a groupon voucher

Groupon is having a blogger competition to win a $500 Groupon voucher. I just have to tell them, in all my creativity, what I’d use the voucher for. Fictitious or not.

So…This is a no brainer.

I’M SICK OF POOP!!!!!!!!!!!!  You all know of my struggles with potty training. Hannah pooping on her foot. Constantly pooping in her underpants, but refusing to wear a nappy. Ugh. The list goes on. Torture.

I would use every last cent of that voucher to pay a potty training guru to come to my house and train my daughter. Said guru would clean up every poo that got smushed all over Hannah’s underpants. Guru would wipe all the poo off of Hannah’s legs and butt. She would scrub the poopy underpants clean. Heck, she would even clean all the poopy underpants that I have soaking in a bucket of nappy san in the laundry room that I have been avoiding for a week. Disgusting I know, but I hate dealing with it.

Guru would lovingly (and quickly) teach Hannah to poop in that lovely big girl toilet instead of her underwear. And it wouldn’t take long, she’s a guru.

And what would I be doing whilst guru fixed poopy messes? Eating cake and drinking hot chocolate while I watched the chaos, delighted that it wasn’t me dealing with it.

If only. Sigh.

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“What’s that on my toe?”

The kids were playing very nicely by themselves in the living room. I decided to take the opportunity to do all the chopping, peeling, and other prep work for dinner.

Daniel was playing happily at the play kitchen. Opening the cupboard and pulling all of the dishes out, then closing it again. Over and over. He loves the play kitchen.

Hannah was dancing around and watching Peppa Pig. She loves dancing. And watching Peppa Pig.

I was peeling some sweet potato. Lost in my own thoughts. Probably fantasising about being on the Amazing Race Australia. Yes I’m obsessed. Whatever.

“Mommy, what’s that on my toe?” Hannah asked me, all concerned.

I looked over at her, expecting to see some toy or sticker adorning her toe(s). Maybe some food.

But it was brown.

Oh please no.

How could it be? She was wearing pants. And underwear.

Handcraft Toddler Girls Toddler Disney Princess 7 Pack Panty

I stepped over the baby-proof fence separating the kitchen and living room.

Daniel saw me coming and crawled towards me as I hopped the fence, giggling happily with every step.

I knelt down next to Hannah. I needed to get a good look. I needed to relieve my fears and confirm that the offending item was a piece of raisin. Or half-eaten cracker. Or even a half-chewed piece of brown paper.

But it wasn’t.

“DON’T MOVE HANNAH!” Ok, so I may have over-reacted just a little.

“DANIEL NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He was still coming for us. Straight towards Hannah and her manky poo-covered toe.

Oh goodness, there’s poop on the floor too!

“HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!!”

I picked up Daniel and carried him to the other side of the room.

I picked up Hannah and carried her, as far out in front of me as I possibly could (I don’t want poo on me!), to the bathroom.

“STAY THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

Daniel was once again gleefully crawling towards the poo spots on the carpet at breakneck speed.

I picked him up and put him on the other side of the room again and quickly got the carpet cleaner and a rag out of the cupboard.

“MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!! MOMMY!!!!!!!” Hannah was screaming and crying in the bathroom. But she didn’t move.

“STAY THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

I held Daniel at bay with my foot while I scrubbed the carpet, sprayed some more, and scrubbed again. Daniel really wanted to get at that carpet and see what all the fuss was about. Cheeky monkey.

“MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I finished cleaning the carpet (I had to do that first so Daniel wasn’t out in the living room eating poop while I cleaned Hannah up. You know how it is…) and went to Hannah in the bathroom.

I took her pants off.

Oh *%$#.

It was everywhere.

I tried to get her underwear off without retching and/or getting poop all over myself and/or the bathroom.

It was all down her legs. All over her butt. All over her front.

I wiped her up as best as I could with wipes while Daniel banged on the bathroom door, crying and yelling “Momma! Momma!” over and over again.

“STAY RIGHT THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

I had to leave the bathroom to put all the filthy wipes in the poop bucket (aka sealed bucket where I put the days dirty nappies), and the even more filthy underwear in the soaking bucket in the laundry room.

I held those soiled undies in front of me like they were on fire and headed toward the laundry room, leaving a still crying Hannah in the bathroom.

Daniel, joyful at the sight of my re-emergence, decided it was a good time to play walk-while-holding-on-to-mommy’s-leg. Which is basically exactly as it sounds, but with gigantic smiles and lots of giggles.

My pants nearly falling down, poo nearly falling out of the underpants, I took step after slow step, Daniel attached to my leg stepping his little legs as fast as he could to keep up, giggling all the while.

Hannah stood in the bathroom door, legs covered in poo, screaming as I walked away from her.

I somehow managed to get the undies to the laundry room without spilling and once again had to lock an un-amused Daniel out of the bathroom while I cleaned Hannah up in the bathtub.

Sigh.

I hate potty training.

A Potty for Me!: A Lift-the-Flap Instruction Manual

That was over a week ago. Before her third birthday. She has since pooped in the toilet. Please, oh please dear God, help her poop in the toilet again.

Yay! She pooped in the toilet again just now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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When I’m three (part 2)

As you’ll probably remember, Hannah is not so into pooping on the toilet/potty. But, she wears underwear and had absolutely no issues with doing all of her pooping in those. Sigh.

In the morning, she excitedly told me that she could open the door because she is a big girl now.

Sure enough, she toddled over to the bathroom door, fiddled with it for a bit and to my surprise, it opened (we have very high door handles, she can only just reach them. And only on her tippy toes). She was delighted. And I made a huge fuss.

“Good job Hannah! You’re such a big girl now!!”

She’s been telling me that she’d poop in the toilet on her birthday.

Related post: Poop in the shopping centre

Well, she turned three yesterday. She had a fantastic day. She helped me make waffles for breakfast (at her request).

We went to McDonald’s for lunch. Again, her request. Not the she ate anything. She did eat a few chips, but Daniel ate all of her nuggets. Yeah, my little chubba at 4.5 nuggets. He had a go at all 6, but he dropped some on the ground. She played on big slide thing there with YaYa and found rat poop all over the top of the slide. Awesome. Just what you want your kids playing in. YaYa told the manager who looked about 12 years old, but he just stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. Seriously, he didn’t say a word when she told him. Just that what-the-f$*#-do-you-want-me-to-do-about-it, why-don’t-you-clean-it-up-yourself stare. Great managing, McDonalds.

Mc Donald’s Play Hamburger Container

At least she drank her apple juice. She didn’t eat her nuggets or drink the babycino that YaYa bought her.

Nugget in one hand, chip in the other. That’s how he rolls.

Aaron got off work an hour early so that he would get home at 5:40 instead of 6:40. But then the trains were all delayed and he got home at 6. Stupid Cityrail….

Thomas the Train: TrackMaster Thomas Rides the Rails Starter Set

She opened a million presents (because Grandma got her way too many. As usual.) whilst wearing the blue party hat that she really, really wanted.

She is obsessed with Mickey Mouse, so The Jess and I made her a Mickey Mouse cake. Ok, Hannah and I baked it, The Jess decorated it. She’s all skilled like that. She told me she wanted a pink cake and a chocolate cake, so we made strawberry cake and mudcake and swirled them together. YUMMY!

Mickey Mouse Hoodie Hat

We (and by we, I mean me) put all of the used wrapping paper and paper from the presents, and paper bowls from the cake and ice cream (what, I didn’t want to wash up 7 bowls. I don’t even have 7 bowls!) in a garbage bag and put it in the kitchen. Which, I might add, is on the other side of the baby gate. The side Daniel is not allowed on.

I didn’t give Daniel any cake. He’s not even 1. He doesn’t need cake. Next thing I know, he’s sitting next to the fence with a paper bowl covering his whole face. He was slurping what was left of the ice cream out of that bowl and squealing in delight.

“Daniel, NO!” I told him. How he even managed to get the bowl, I’m not sure. Boy’s got skills when it comes to food. I took the bowl from him which prompted screams and revealed a nice layer of ice cream in his hair.

This is what happens when Aunty Jess is supposed to be watching him

It was a busy, fun day. But did she poop in the toilet or potty? No. She didn’t poop at all.

So never goes 2 days without pooping. So today was p-day. Poop on the potty day. She told me she would because she’s “a big girl now.”

We drove an hour to see some friends today. She didn’t poop. We came home. She didn’t poop. Had dinner. Still no poop. Had a bath. I got them ready for bed.

“Did you poop?” I asked Daniel. It smelled like his brand. A quick sniff of his clothed butt (sometimes as a mom, I kinda feel like a dog) ruled him out.

Crap.

“Hannah, did you poop?”

“No.” She told me in that weird I-really-did-but-don’t-want-you-to-know-I-did voice.

And then I jumped out the window.

Ok, not really. But that’s what I felt like doing.

Instead I lost my marbles and told her she has to wear a nappy until learns how to poop on the toilet. She screamed and cried and kicked, but she’s wearing a nappy.

Sigh.

One day, she will poop on the toilet. One day.

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

When I’m three

I’ve told you about trying to potty train Hannah before. I’m so over it. It’s been months. Actually, I first tried to potty train her a year ago. A YEAR! Granted I wasn’t trying that whole time (because of this, but still….

The whole thing is just driving me nuts. She pees on the potty, but refuses to poop on it. She’s been pee potty trained for months. But she’s only pooped on the toilet or potty a handful of times. I know she knows how. I know she knows when she needs to.

The Potty Book – For Girls

Once Hannah was in the bathtub and she told me she had to poop. I put her on the toilet and she did a giant poo. She knew that if she pooped in the bath she’d have to get out, the bath would need to be cleaned, she’d have to stand there like a drowned rat for a bit, and then she’d have to get back in. So she told me she had to poop. See, I knew she knew….

Now she wears her big girl underpants because a) she wants to, and that must be a step in the right direction. Right? b) if I put her in a pull up, she’ll get lazy and just pee in it because she knows she can, and c) it’s cheaper than her being in nappies or pull-ups all the time.

The perils of potty training

But as I said, she pees in the potty, and poops in…her underpants. Sigh. Sometimes the poop is a little bit squidgy. Depends on what she eats I suppose. Have you ever tried to get a little-bit-squidgy poop out of underpants? It’s hard. And disgusting. And messy. Ick.

Fruit of the Loom Girls 2-6x Toddler 6 Pack Wardrobe Brief

The whole thing is just driving me crazy! I’m so sick of cleaning up crap. Well, her crap. Daniel’s is ok, he’s too young to think about potty training. She’s nearly three. THREE! It’s so embarrassing changing her poopy pull-ups (Ok, fine, she wears pull-ups when we’re out. Imagine having to deal with the poo underpants in public) in the parents room at the shopping centre. She lays there, speaking full, proper sentences, while I wipe her butt.

I imagine everyone in the room is staring at me, wondering why my child, who is so clearly too old to not be potty trained, is laying there in soiled pull-ups. Seriously, so embarrassing.

I asked her why she won’t poop on the toilet. And you know what she said?

“I’m still a little girl Mommy. When I’m three, I’ll be a big girl and I will poop in the toilet. I will poop in the toilet for my birthday.”

Sigh.

At least it’s only one month until her birthday. One month exactly. And knowing my stubborn, strong-willed daughter, she will do just that. She will poop on the toilet the day she turns three. At least I hope so. If not, I think I might pull my hair out.

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Poop in the shopping centre

This happened a while back, but I used this story as my entry in the Kleenex mums So You Think You Can Blog  competition. The submitted post had to be something not posted elsewhere. The comp ended on the 1st of May, yet they haven’t put up any entries after the 24th of April (mine was after that), nor have they announced a winner. In all, they only have 8 entries up, and a blurb saying there’s still time to enter until the 1st of May.

Basically, I can’t be bothered waiting anymore. I didn’t spend lots of time and effort writing and drawing something that possibly won’t ever get posted because they can’t keep track of their competitions. Or whatever reason they have for not putting things up and announcing a winner.

So here it is – a true story of horror in a department store at the shopping centre. Of course I didn’t call it “Poop in the shopping centre”, I called it “Potty Training in Public.” Didn’t want to scare them off with just the title :

Potty training is hard. At least it has been for us. For the longest time, Hannah (2 years and 8 months old) refused to even sit on the potty. So I didn’t push it. I just left her in nappies.

Then one day, she decided she wanted to wear underwear. And still not sit on the potty. Sigh. Oh well, it was a start.

She wet herself every few hours, turning our carpets into a disgusting smelly mess no matter how many times I scrubbed them and peppered them with carpet freshener. But then a light bulb seemed to come on, and she finally got it. She started peeing in the potty every single time. Even when we were out.

Poop? Now that is a whole other kettle of fish. That we are still working on. Every day, she poops her pants and I have to attempt poo removal without it a) getting it all over me b) getting all over her c) getting all over the floor, or d) all of the above. Ick. I don’t know why she can’t just poop on the potty.

We’ve been pretty lucky with outings though. She doesn’t usually poop while we are out. Until the other day.

“Mommy, I have to pee.” Hannah told me. We were in Myer, so we found the nearest bathroom and that was that. We kept shopping.

“Mommy, I have to do a poo.” Except when she says that, it means she already did a poo. Or was in the process of doing so.

“Why didn’t you go when we were in the bathroom, we were just there.” I grabbed her and ran. The bathroom was all the way on the other side of the store.

“I’ll meet you over there.” My sister in law told me. She had the shopping trolley, my son Daniel, and all of our shopping.

Finally, we made it to the bathroom. Too late. Sigh.

Her bottom was smeared in poop from me carrying her all that way. I tried to clean it off with toilet paper, but I needed something better. I needed a wipe.

I took Hannah, pants-less, out of the bathroom, hoping that my Sister in law was just outside. She wasn’t.

We went back down the corridor to the bathroom, Hannah’s poo covered bottom hanging out for all to see.

“Didn’t quite make it?” An employee asked me. How embarrassing.

I took Hannah back in the bathroom. A wet paper towel would have to do. Sigh. No paper towels. Seems Myer is all resource conscious and only has hand dryers. Fine, a wet piece of toilet paper would have to do. We went back in the bathroom stall to get some.

Hannah came closer to me. Oh no, I knew what she was about to do.

“NO HANNAH, YOU CAN’T SIT ON ME RIGHT NOW!”

Too late. She jumped on my knee as I knelt there next to the toilet paper dispenser. Alarmed by my outburst, she got straight off. But the damage was done. There was poop all over my pants. Ick.

Lots of wet toilet paper later, she was finally cleaned up. And I had to wear my jeans with that not-so-lovely, stinky brown spot on them all the way home.

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The ninja nuggets

Hannah is finally starting to poop on the potty. It’s only been…hmm…I can’t even remember, but way too long. I’ve cleaned up way too much poo. Ick. Sigh.

And by starting, I mean only just. As in the day before yesterday. Seems marshmallows are worth sitting on the toilet for.  Especially the pink ones.

This morning started out well. There was no vomit (because yesterday, there was lots. Ick. I hate vomit. But you all know that well enough by now), Hannah was drinking and eating and playing.

But then I smelled something. Something icky. Something poop-ish. Ick. I thought it was Daniel. A quick smell through his clothes proved otherwise.

“Hannah, do you have to poop?”

“No.”

“Are you just doing stinky toots?”

“No.”

“Who’s making those smells?” Hannah asked me. Usually she admits when she farts. Or poops. Or both. I didn’t think it was her, I thought Daniel must just be farting and not pooping.

I kept smelling it. Hannah’s back was to me.

And there it was. A protrusion from her pants. A clear as day poo coming out (or already out) outline. Ick.

I took her to the bathroom and checked her underpants. A poo nugget had already been freed in there. I stood her on the toilet, one foot on each side and pulled her underwear down, and towards the front of the toilet, in one quick fluid movement. That’s the best way to not get poo on myself, herself, and/or our surroundings. The poo nugget dropped nicely in the toilet without touching anything. Yeah, underpants emptying is a good skill to have. It’s taken me a long time to develop it. Sigh.

“Are you done pooping? Do you need to do some more?” I asked her.

“I need to do some more.” She told me. I sat her down on the toilet, her special I-don’t-want-my-child-to-fall-in smaller seat fitted to the inside of the normal seat.

I stepped towards the door to go get the iPad. Watching Mickey Mouse helps her poop. Whatever works right?

I felt something under my foot. It didn’t feel like a towel. Or clothes. Or a rubber ducky, a bottle of shampoo, a washcloth, a hairbrush, or anything that may be accidentally lying about the bathroom floor (and by accidentally, I mean a toddler and/or cheeky baby put it there).

It felt wrong. Like when I stepped on it, it was one height, and then it shrank as the weight of my foot beat down on it.

I lifted my foot, panic filling me. I knew what it must be. But I was still hoping it wasn’t.

I looked down. And there it was. A squished poo nugget. Ick.

I saw the nugget from her underwear fall into the toilet. How on earth did that one get there? Oh my gosh, I stepped in poo. Human poo. Ick.

I wiped it up with some toilet paper and flushed it away before immediately scrubbing the floor with disinfectant. Seriously, how did it get there?

A few hours later Hannah told me she had to poop.

“It’s coming out of my bottom!” She screeched.

We ran to the bathroom. Part of it was already loose in her underpants. We did the whole standing-on-toilet-seat thing again. Again, the poo went in the toilet and then I sat her down and headed towards the door.

Splat. Oh frick. Not again. 

I picked up my foot. Crap (literally). Those darn ninja nuggets struck again. How could I step on poop TWICE in one day?!?!?! HOW DID THEY GET THERE???!!!! Luckily I was wearing socks. Both times.

Sigh.

Maybe I’m not so skilled at dropping poop from Hannah’s underpants into the toilet. Double sigh.

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I knew this day would come

I knew this day would come. I’ve heard the stories. They say it happens at least once with every child. But of course I was hoping my child wouldn’t do that.

“Mommy, I have to go pee pee.” Hannah told me.  I opened the bathroom door for her. We used to keep it open, but now Daniel seems to have this dire need to go in the bathroom and stick his fingers in Hannah’s little toilet and/or pull himself up on the big toilet whilst shoving his little hands under toilet seat.  So yeah, the door stays closed now.

After I opened the door, I went to the kitchen to get her beloved little stool with the monkey face on it. She likes to stand on it to wash her hands.

“Mommy, there’s my poo nugget.” She told me when I re-entered the bathroom.

“Your poo nugget?”

“Yeah, my poo nugget is in the toilet.” She told me as she stood next to the big toilet with her undies around her ankles, holding up the lid in one hand.

Why was I not rejoicing? Why was I not ecstatic at the fact that my child finally pooped in the toilet? Easy. She can’t get up there all by herself.  Not without her monkey stool.  Which happend to be in my hand.

ICK!

“DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!” I told her, a little too loud and crazily. I didn’t want those poo hands contaminating anything!

And then I washed her hands like she had the plague.

“Hannah, just for future reference, we don’t touch poop. Poop is icky.”

Sigh.

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