I can’t stand poop. It’s pretty much the smell. The visage and tactile sensation doesn’t bother me to point that the smell does. That is why having kids triggered a thought reflex along the lines of holy crap here comes the poop brigade. I have three wonderful kids now. 2 girls, Ema and Alli and their younger brother, Esben. Esben was not born at this time. .
Ema was potty training. This deserves some "dun dun duuun" music, or a lonely trombone singing " wah wah waaaaah". There reaches that point in potty training where the anxious parent says to themself: “I think she’s got the hang of it". You’re not quite sure, but your parental instincts tell you "this girl can poop in a toilet". Her cute little training commode was situated in the bathroom alongside the adult pot. My parental instincts at the time had sent me this message that she was good to go with the toilet. We (her parents) had noticed that if she wore a diaper or underwear, she would 'go' in what she had on. However, if she had nothing on she'd suddenly scramble for the toilet. Since this seemed a reliable pattern for the last couple of days, we let her run around naked. She would only poop at night though, while she had a diaper. Baby steps I guess.
One day, just like any other, I, myself had to go to bathroom. I took note that it had been a while since Ema had gone and I thought to myself”that would be my luck if she had to go at the same time I did." So I moved her little potty outside the bathroom door where she could get it if she needed it. I thought the chances of us have to go at the same time were probably pretty slim, but why chance a mess. These were my famous last words.
Sure enough, no sooner am I going than I can hear her going too. “Are you going potty Ems?" I asked her. In a grunty little voice” she says “I gotta go poops daddy". Well what can I say? There was little Ems on the pot with her milestone going on and me sitting on my pot just beaming with pride. The poop and all is repulsive qualities mattered nothing in this proud, tear welling moment. I get up to wash my hands and, so as to help supplement her new habits I asked her to wash her hands too. I was gonna help her and we were gonna share this experience and then make calls to grandparents about the whole thing.
No sooner did I get the question out, then I heard the most blood curdling scream from the living room. I ran out of the bathroom to see little Alli, still too young to do much but crawl, sitting up on her knees wailing as loud as she could, right next to the cute potty with two handfuls of healthy turd. I was horrified. I'm not gonna lie. My first instinct was to run. But then another instinct kicked in. it was clearly a parental one. I was immediately over come with the thought; ”what if she hates poop as much as I do? She doesn’t know what to do! She’s trapped!" Well of course, this means daddy to the rescue. I ran to Alli and scooped her up and rushed her into the bathroom over the sink.
There I had another struggle. What do I do now? I mean I know the poop has to come off. But on the way to the bathroom, pieces had managed to fall on me. My hands, arms, shirt, legs, etc... I reeeaaaaaallly wanted it off me first and it was hard not to wash off the parts that were on me first. But I looked at Alli and her torment and began to rinse her in the sink. She started making her fists tighter and squashing the caca through her fingers. I was pretty grossed out. I started prying her fists open to clean her hands. She was just flailing uncontrollably. Flinging poop water all over me, and the bathroom. The mirror, the floor, the wall, etc... Then a big glop of WARM brown slop hits my arm. Well of course its poop. But it seemed to fall from her face. I looked at her head on in the mirror and, sure as shit ( was that a pun?), there was still plenty of turd in her mouth. I wonder how long I looked at her for before I snapped out of it. I rinsed her over sink for close to an hour. The both of us flinging crap all over. When she was finally bathtub- ready, I bathed her for another half hour and then soaked her in clean bath water for as long as she wanted to play with her toys. While she was playing, I managed wipe off the easy to get chunks and smears off of myself at this time and then went under the sink to get the necessary tools for cleaning, when suddenly I remembered Ema. There was no screaming or crying so I felt safe assuming she was fine. But I go out there any way just to check. Sure enough, there she is sitting on the couch with a sippy cup contently watching some goofy kids show. "Hi daddy". She stands up to hand me her empty sippy cup. Lo and behold, the epic skid mark was bestowed. I never had a chance to wipe Ema after her milestone. And there were tell tale signs of every where she had sat while I was in mid crisis. they were on the carpet in front of the TV, on the couch, on the recliner, and her rocking horse, just to name a couple. I cleaned up five major skid marks and other marks I suspected. While I cleaned Emas 'signatures', I got Alli from the bathtub, Ema dressed, and a quick dinner made. Just as this whole debacle was settled officially (three hours later) and I had just finished putting away all the cleaners and laundry and stuff, in walks momma. Home from work and excited to see her children. She scoops up Alli and says "Hi baby! I missed you so much. Your breath smells like shit."
Then I took a shower.