Amy’s 17 months old. She’s at that stage where she follows me into the bathroom whenever I leave the door open a crack or wreaks havoc in the house whenever I don’t. Sometimes it’s a choice of the lesser of two evils. This means if we’re alone in the house I’m usually stuck with a peep show to my peeing. I only poop during her nap or if Nick or Alex are there to keep an eye on her. No one needs an audience for that except gross kinky fetishists. (And even they don’t involve toddlers.) Of course I still can’t poop in peace and halfway through she’s banging on the door demanding, “Momma out!”
Amy also makes the poopy face and has started bringing me clean diapers whenever she drops a load in her Huggies. I’d been thinking about starting potty training with her at some point soon, even though I know she’s still a bit young. Why not? She’s showing signs of interest, is aware of being dirty, and doesn’t enjoy being in her own filth. And, quite frankly, I’m sick of shitty diapers.
So today after nap we did the usual cuddle and chat and change the wet diaper and began to play. Then I saw it. She looked at me and made the Amy patented poopy face. I asked, “Amy, are you pooping?” And, lo and behold, she giggled and responded with an enthusiastic “Yeah!” And I thought to myselves, selves, this is an excellent learning opportunity we shouldn’t pass up! Commence potty training!
Excitedly, I scooped up my little girl and dashed her to the bathroom before the half smile/half poopy face could leave her visage. I threw open the toilet seat. I yanked off her little pants and one sock. The sock promptly fell into the toilet. I fished it out before it sank. That’s ok, I thought, she has more socks. My daughter stood confused while I wrestled with the diaper I’d apparently fastened too efficiently. Why on earth was Mommy doing this standing up? She kept trying to lay down and I held her up by the arm with one hand as she loudly protested. "No! No! No! Nooooo!" As I finally managed to open the tape and peel it away with my other hand, her eyes locked with mine, she gave a mighty poopy face push, and finished crapping on my fingers. Ah, we had corn last night.
Undeterred, I dropped the soiled diaper, washed my hands while holding her wriggling body between my knees, and then calmly dumped the poop that had made it into the diaper in the toilet. She watched, disinterested. She wanted to play in the bathtub. Instead I placed her on the toilet and praised her for sitting there so nicely. Bad idea. The crap that had been in the diaper? It was smeared all over that adorable little toddler butt of hers. And now it was all over the toilet seat. And she was just about to put her hands in it.
No big deal. I will just take her off, sit on the tub, stick her over my knee, and clean her with some toilet paper. Then I’ll wipe up the seat. Into the other room for a fresh diaper and we’re done. No big deal. And it wouldn’t have been. Except for two things. The first being the alarm went off letting me know I had to pick Alex up from school in 10 minutes. The second being…no toilet paper. SHIT! Literally. So I grabbed my angel around the waist trying to avoid her filthy ass, and rushed from the bathroom. By now she was already frustrated and crying. This was made worse by the fact that in my panic I banged her head into the door frame. I am a terrible mother. I ran to the changing area (aka my bed) and threw down some wipes under her gross butt and proceeded to coo apologies to her while wiping the filth from her behind. Dammit I forgot to get a clean diaper!
So once she was clean I cuddled my naked-from-the-waist-down child to me and fetched a diaper. I called my sister downstairs and asked her if she could watch the “little beast” while I ran to get Alex. There was no way I was going to get her dressed and out the door. Luckily, my sister took pity and said yes. After I managed to get the diaper and pants on I had just enough time to remember to wipe the toilet seat and wash my hands before running out to pick up Alex. And, for once this week, I wasn’t late. I am Super Mom.
*I am writing this for your benefit Jr. Highschool teacher. To explain the traumatic experience that lead to my daughter still not being properly potty trained at 16. I suck at life.
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