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Parenting is So Glamorous

March 10, 2019

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He pooped in the tub… again.

Our little cherub is sprightly, energetic, and strong. He is 16 months old, and occasionally uses the potty.

Despite giving him an opportunity

to “go” before a bath, he has now pinched a loaf in the bathtub, on four separate occasions. Since I bathe him more often than my husband does, I’ve had the exclusive pleasure of the bathtime poo. I guess you could call it a solid surprise.

He sits in a little folding plastic bathtub, which we place in our shower. I run a bubble bath, and all is well. He splashes and plays. I give him time to fill and pour water from a plastic cup, and talk to his floating octopus. He sticks his face in the bubbles. Then I hear a grunt. I swish my hand around, to view what lies beneath the surface. I come up with a handful of yellow poo.

It’s a shit show from there,

because I don’t want him sitting in poo water, and I don’t want to flood the shower floor with it, either. I panic, knowing I have to move quickly. It’s impossible to pick up the tub when it’s full; it’s too heavy. I try to debulk the poo, scooping it out of the water, and throwing it in the toilet. I drain some water into the shower drain, but have to control the rate of flow. My little boy gleefully splashes in the water puddling near him on the shower floor. Poo droplets fly through the air to deposit on surrounding surfaces, including me.

I dump the remaining bath soup in the toilet, taking care not to splash, and flushing before the bowl fills to the brim.

By the third incident,

I helplessly call for my husband. Holding a naked baby, I plead, “Can you please deal with the tub? I can’t right now.” The third poo takes a piece of me.

I hear Bob groan from the other room, as he encounters the solids and liquids. He cleans up the mess.

Until the next time!

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