A Totally True, Very Messy Poopy Parenting Story

a year ago
Stock Image
This article was written by a member of the SheKnows Community. It has not been edited, vetted or reviewed by our editorial staff, and any opinions expressed herein are the writer’s own.

You can imagine how relieved I was when it was Hubby on toilet duty the day my younger son somehow managed to pooh on the bathroom floor in a toy shop!

Now, before we leave the house I always ask the kids if they need to go to the toilet. My youngest boy considers the question, tries to push out a cheeky wee (just in case its hiding from him) and then makes a decision as to whether he needs to go or not.

My oldest boy always says no. He is in a hurry. Life is moving too slow for him.
(Inevitably, we’d arrive at our destination and he would be holding himself and willing the wee not to come out.)

This kid is savvy, resourceful, fiercely independent and strong willed. He has street smarts, he is the kid that calls my bluff and is smart enough to not gloat when he is successful. He learns by watching and then doing. When he was about 5 years old Hubby heard the microwave bing one morning. Our son had just cooked himself a bowl of porridge after watching his Dad do it for the past few mornings. As responsible parents, we were faced with two options; we could tell him off, which would work on our younger rule abiding son. But for our big boy making something taboo just creates mystery and excitement to be explored. Or we could remove all mystery and talk to him about microwave safety.

It’s not just his actions that make this kid smart, he is also a quick thinker.

When we were living in Dublin and he was about 4 years old, we were out at a café and of course he was refusing to stop what he was doing to go to the toilet. So I let him experience a bit more discomfort as he tried to hide that he was holding himself and shuffling from foot to foot. Again, I asked if he needed to go to the toilet and his reply (very loudly and proudly) was, ‘nah, I’m just unsticking my ball from my penis’.

Yes, ball as in singular – I don’t know why he only said one. It was very amusing to all those people in Wilde & Green cafe in Dublin (belated apologies). What could I say? I don’t know what that would feel like, who am I to offer advice on what does or does not need unsticking for a boy?! It actually took me a while to figure out that he did need to go to the toilet but by using that excuse he could buy himself more play time.

Anyway, back to the toy store where my hubby was marching our youngest son off to the toilet – after losing a paper, scissors, rock battle (best out of 3 after he lost the first round) with me (smug grin). Here is how he says it went down.

Hubby and son were squeezed into a cubicle while our son got on with his number 2’s. As our youngest often sings while poohing it was a fair assumption to make that when his song finished, his job was done. So hubby lifted him off the toilet to do the wiping and stood him up only to discover that one of the kids hadn’t quite made it to the pool with the others and had dropped partially on the floor of the toilet and partially in our sons undies!

Hubby told our son to stand still.

Our son turned around with his pants still around his ankles and said ‘Why Dad?’ As he did he stepped back into the pooh.

Hubby cried, ‘please stop moving!’.

‘Sorry Dad.’ As he stepped in it again.

By this point pooh is now stuck firmly in the tread of both shoes and has somehow managed to smear the upper canvas and with each shuffling movement the pooh grid on the floor is widening.

Hubby is now trying to clean up the pooh with toilet paper and (I kid you not) using recently flushed water from the toilet is trying to clean the pooh off the tread of the shoe. He manages to remove the offending undies and get our sons pants back on limiting the pooh outbreak.

After quite a long period of time, I finally see Hubby and son coming towards me. Hubby’s coat and hoody are now wrapped around his waist, his face is flushed, he is shaking his head, he is sweating and he says to me ‘I’m tagging out’. He is holding the hand of my son who for some reason is not wearing any shoes or undies (hubby had just binned them). We walked silently to the car.

Our eldest son has experience in this area as well. In fact he was nicknamed the Poopinator by Hubby after he projectile pooped on him as a baby.

Now, every parent knows to beware of the silent child. One afternoon when our big boy was still having day naps, it took me too long to notice the unusual silence. When the penny dropped that something was not right, time turned to slow motion as I moved towards his bedroom door and opened it.

Damn it.

There was our son on the floor in his bedroom getting tactile with his warm nappy pooh. Every toy car in his room had been driven through it leaving tracks on the floorboards. His cool Bolle sunglasses had joined the pooh party and were currently on his beaming face. I didn’t even bother with the toys, they went straight into the bin. It was the wooden floor that really hurt my heart. There was a pound of pooh jammed into the cracks between the floorboards. It took me a face mask, 3 pairs of disposable gloves, a nail brush and a bottle of bleach to eliminate any trace of what had occurred.

I usually end my blogs with tips or advice, but I don’t have anything for dealing with pooh, you’ve just got to man up and deal with it. And yes, your child will find your gagging, dry vomiting facial expressions hilarious!

for more interesting stories on my life travelling and living wil small kids, please visit www.findingjaimee.com 

Tagged in:

More from parenting

by Jennifer Mattern | 8 hours ago
by Justina Huddleston | 9 hours ago
by Jennifer Mattern | 11 hours ago
by Lindsey Hunter Lopez | 13 hours ago
by Madison Medeiros | a day ago
by Claire Gillespie | a day ago
by Lindsey Hunter Lopez | 2 days ago
by Jennifer Mattern | 3 days ago
by Caitlin Flynn | 3 days ago
by Chanté Griffin | 4 days ago
by Kristine Cannon | 7 days ago