If there exists a phrase to describe my last three days it would be this: adventures in toddler poop. Right now the little man is peacefully sleeping, but I’m sure that will end well before I’m ready for it to. You see, I feel like all I have done the last couple of days is clean poop. I know it isn’t…we did have a great hour and a half at the park yesterday, but somehow that memory is much less remarkable in my mind than a number of others…
At just shy of 18 months, little man is actually fully capable of communicating when he has to use the bathroom and using it. He has done it on a number of occasions. However, lately he has decided to be, quite literally, a closet pooper. He actually hides/goes to a corner/behind furniture and covers his eyes to poop and tells you no when you ask him if he is pooping.
Sunday morning, 9:30am: We sit him on the toilet since we know he has to go. A couple minutes roll by…nothing and he tells us he is all done. Okay kid, I’ll bite…it’s a pretty routine time for you to go, but I understand there are days when you just don’t have to. I take him off and turn to do something…the hubby and I both get distracted in the midst of getting ready for church. Little man has disappeared while naked…I look over and he is playing in the closet…a perfectly normal thing for him to do. He loves hiding in my clothes. I have a sudden realization – he isn’t playing peek-a-boo or hide-and-seek with us – he is deathly silent. I look at hubby and say “he better not be crapping in my closet.” Hubby makes a beeline for the closet. Sure enough. There is a log in the midst of my hanging clothes as little man runs for his life leaving a trail of little turds, one of which he steps in as he proceeds to run down the hall. Hubby is, to put it very mildly, not amused.
Monday, lunchtime: Hubby forgets his lunch at home and tells me he is coming home to eat lunch. Awesome! It’s a treat to see him midday and we’ve had a bit of a frustrating morning so it will be good for us both to see dada. I’m fixing us some lunch and see little man go around the corner of the couch. He’s silent. “Are you pooping?” I ask. “No,” comes the response. I know he is lying to me. I finish up what I am doing and head over to him as hubby walks in the door. Craaapppp. Literally. He is fully clothed, but there is poop on the carpet. I take little man to the bathroom…poop down his pant leg, all over his sock. Gross…he gets a mini-bath, hubby cleans up poop off the carpet. Hubby is never coming home for lunch again.
Today, 9:20 am: Little man was up crying from 4:30-5:30, then up at 6:10. Back to sleep at 8:30. We have to leave for MOPS at 9ish. I might play hooky…oh wait, I have pumpkin bread I made PLUS granola and yogurt someone dropped off at my house to bring. I’m exhausted, so is he, but somehow we are going to MOPS. In the car little man was chatting and eating a banana. It’s now silent. “Are you pooping?” I ask. “No,” comes the response. A few minutes later my car is FULL of disgusting, gross poop smell. And I am stuck in traffic. Ten minutes to go a mile in a car that now smells worse than the barn. I arrive for MOPS and pretty much head straight for the bathroom, because the little changing table in the nursery was not going to cut it. It’s down his pant leg, all over his socks. Mid clean up I run out of wipes. Ugh. Why am I not in the nursery where there are packages of wipes? Why is no one coming into the bathroom so I can ask to bring me some more? I have hand sanitizing wipes. I pull them out and as I do little man starts peeing an arc at me; thankfully, he misses me. Are. you. kidding? Pee on the bathroom floor. I have four sanitizing wipes left. I start mopping the floor with his clothes that will no way be going back on his little body. Thankfully I have extra pants and a shirt. I find a way to somehow finish containing the mess and cleaning him up with a mix of paper towels and creativity. He’s clothed now. No spare socks. He is barefoot with a couple inches of fresh snow outside. Oh well. I survived. My bag smells like poop. I think he is getting a diaper rash…I didn’t bring the coconut oil. Oh well. He’ll survive.
Head back in to join the other moms.
Today, noon: I am going to the bathroom. Little man says he has to go. I put him on the toilet. He says he is done. No, you are not. Two minutes later, floodgates open. Thank you Jesus. I did not want to clean that one out of a diaper, or carpet. Finally – a bit of success!
Tomorrow: let’s avoid any repeats please.