Sunday, June 27, 2010
Bull's Eye (The Adventures in Poop)
I am a proud mother today.
My 19 month old shat on the can. Assisted, mind you, but STILL!
Here is my story.
It was a hot, muggy Sunday evening. Cole's dad had just headed out to play geeky board games with Yeats et al. I was cleaning up from supper, trying to prep lunches and make the house presentable for the babysitter who was coming over tomorrow. The happy chatter dimmed, so I turned to see what trouble Cole had gotten into. He was squatting underneath the kitchen table (in child's pose, if you will) with his arms straight out in front of him braced firmly and pushing against the seat of a kitchen chair. He was straining and his face was red.
"Uh buddy? Are you pooping?"
No answer. Only bulging eyes and the emotionless poop smile, where the cheeks get pulled back on either side, not because of glee, but because of the sheer force of the deed. It was evident the matter was in the making. Feeling a bit lucky, and somewhat inspired because Kenny from daycare had peaked Cole's interest in sitting on the toilet, I whisked him upstairs to the bathroom.
It occurred to me as I was about to pull down his drawrers that in all likelihood, a little turd would roll out onto the tile floor, so I peeked in first and it looked like the coast was clear. So with the swiftness of a jungle cat, I ripped off the diaper and hoisted him onto the toilet and held him there.
There ensued some straining and much concentration on both our parts and a lot of coaching and encouragement and when it was over, I taught him how to lean over in the downwards-facing dog so I could give him a good wipe. We celebrated with an ultra-long toilet-flushing.
The pride and joy was only dimmed by the lack of anyone else to share our good news with.
So I picked up my pregnancy/baby journal and noted today's date and wrote in big letters "COLE POOPED ON THE TOILET TODAY."
But the day wasn't over yet. And there were more poop adventures in store.
Bath time followed.
And I had the kid lying on his back so I could wash his face, neck and various creases, when he suddenly began to make the poop face again and his face began to turn red. My heart sank. This couldn't be happening to me! I'd heard stories. I'd read blogs. But somehow I had foolishly denied I would ever be in the position myself. I thought I'd never have to decide whether to scoop out a floater or to will it down the drain hole. I peeked down between my son's legs.
He was turtling. It was happening indeed. I was done for! And Mark was miles away. I almost gave up.
But then something happened. Perhaps an autonomic response to danger. Probably adrenaline being secreted into my bloodstream and glucose stores being mobilized and reaching all of my muscles giving me superhuman strength. I hoisted my slippery, bubbly and wet little boy out of the tub and half expecting to see a trail of pellets fall upon the bathroom floor, I flew over to the toilet and placed him firmly on the seat. As if from the momentum of his moving body, the most enormous shit I have ever seen leave his young body exploded into the bowl in two giant pieces and relief swept over me. Relief and amazement.
After drying him, diapering him and properly scanning the bath for offending escapees, I went back to my pregnancy/baby journal and added, "...TWICE."