The truth and comedy of being a wife and mother
Warning: I am about to be ridiculously dramatic about the whole situation.
I think I have been scarred for life.
When your child runs into the bathroom (ironic I know) and says “Here Mommy!” You may expect a random toy, something he’s not supposed to touch, a random scrap of garbage off the floor…
But a clump of poo?
Clumps of poo are things you see…in commercials? No, not event that, in the Clorox commercial the kid poos in the tub.
My kid poos in his pants…and then nonchalantly hands it to me.
Vile, disgusting…and oh so stinky.
To his defense, he doesn’t know the stigma poo carries. He has yet to learn that clumps of poo are mostly aligned with angry monkeys, not chipper little boys.
So I have forgiven him. I mean it’s not like I actually took his stinky gift.
But it’s not something you can just erase from your brain, but I was sane enough to strip him down and toss him in the shower. Because I discovered not only was the poo in his hand, but all down the backs of his legs. Hence the shower.
Which he protested greatly.
Because obviously watching Little Einsteins was way more important than having poo on your legs and hand; I beg to differ.
So after soaping him down and lotioning him up and redressing him for the day, Darren and I had the ‘potty talk.’ You know the when where you explain that he needs to tell mommy and daddy when he has to go.
He somberly agreed with me “Okaay.”
I didn’t take his word for it. I mean, he’s two and half and this is potty training. Those two things kind take a while to get on the same page.
But I honestly contemplated writing a self-help book.
Instead I decide it was time to wake the hubby up with this phrase:
“I think it is time for you to get up…Your son handed me a clump of poop.”
It just sounded like the right way to start off his day.
True Story 🙂