We’re on vacation visiting family, so please pardon the lack of posts around here this week. Maybe I would be better about keeping up with things if this vacation wasn’t sucking every last ounce of energy out of me. That’s always the problem with “vacations” that involve bringing your children, though, isn’t it? And as if the running and chasing, the excessive use of the word “NO!”, the constant re-directing away from family member’s valuables and innocent/terrified pets wasn’t enough, we had to throw potty training into the mix this time. I think next time we travel I will keep him on a leash (no really, I’m totally NOT above that) that I will somehow attach a portable toilet to. I don’t have the time or the mental capacity to tie this all into one cohesive flow of paragraphs, so I’m just going to spout out some random recollections from the week that revolve around… poop. (<<<THAT IS YOUR WARNING.)
1. Potty training is all well and good until you decide to take a 16 hour road trip. Through the desert. With nothing but the country’s most foul and frightening truck stops along the way. For sanity’s sake (and for the sake of my newly cleaned car) we opted to put a diaper on him for the trip. Yeah, yeah, yeah… BIG potty training no-no. I KNOW, but I do not care. Nor did I care when in the middle of a part of the country that civilization has neglected for obvious reasons like inferno-like temperatures and lack luster views my kid informed us from the back seat that he needed to “Poopy Potty!” Scott and I both looked at each other as a tumbleweed blew across the road in front of us, the temp gauge reading out 101 degrees. “Pretend you didn’t hear him,” I whispered. And we proceeded to ignore his requests to find him a toilet until he finally just went in his diaper. I’m sure that was all sorts of confusing for him, but, bottom line, I was NOT stopping every two hours to help him go on a toilet that may or may not have been cleaned in the last year or on the side of a road most likely infested with rattle snakes.
2. My kid crapped in Chick-Fil-A. I knew it was only a matter of time. The first day we were here we sought out our favorite food joint for lunch and Kendall decided the corner of the play area made a nice place to fill his pants (possibly still confused by the diaper situation, more likely deliberate revenge for the 16 hour roadtrip). Luckily, it was all solidly contained in his underwear and I didn’t have to be the parent that makes CFA shut down their playground for the day. I cleaned him and his pants up in the bathroom and he free balled it the way home. Yeah, like the ONE time I was without extra undies for him the last month. Perfect timing. I wish I could tell you I lost my appetite after that, but I was immune to the toddler poop and starving. I came back to the table and polished off my Spicy Chicken Sandwich like the pregnant woman I am.
3. After many unsuccesful attempts by his father, I was the one to finally get Kendall to pee *AND POOP* outside. (Let me clarify, we actually haven’t attempted to teach him to POOP outside… just the peeing in the privacy of our own yard.) While hiking/picnicking yesterday he informed me that he needed to go, so I took him to a nearby tree, completely stripped him naked from the waist down because he refuses to go if there is a stitch of clothing on his lower body, even when sitting on the toilet. After a couple minutes I was ready to give up waiting for him to make it happen, but he finally started to go just as I realized we were faced uphill. The pee streamed back down toward us. Mental note for next time- pee downhill. (Yes, I should know this. No, I never pee outside. Okay.. sort of not true. I’ve peed outside while drunk and unable to tell or care if I’m peeing up or downhill. This, unfortunately, was a very sober experience.)
OH, but it does not end there because minutes later he insists he must poop. I beg him to please hold it until we can make it up the hill to the bathrooms, but realize I’m screwed when I feel he’s already started the task in his pants. I rush back over to the tree, whip down his pants, underwear, tear off his shoes and instruct him to squat while I hold his arms. It was like a weird second nature thing. It all happened so fast, like I just instinctually knew how to teach my son to shit in the woods. And he did, which leads me to…
4. You know when you’re changing diapers and it’s a really loaded one? You know what you never think about? How that would have probably been the most massive, man-sized log if it actually made it, un-smashed, into the toilet. Let me tell you, the size of the crap I have seen come out of my 2 year old’s butt leaves me in shock. Last week he pooped something so enormous I, for the first time in our nearly 10 year relationship, yelled at my husband to come look in the toilet. Yesterday’s deposit in the woods was nearly as awe-inspiring. Even more fun? Cleaning it up. Oh yes, I cleaned it up. We were at a picnic area, I had to. Well, I say I cleaned it up when really I made my dad’s wife do it, all the time choking back my gag reflex. It cleaned up just like a dog crap, with a plastic baggie, which I’ve done countless times without gagging. It was just something about human poop that really got to me. The odd thing is, I have no issue wiping it from his butt still, but I’m pretty sure I’d lose my lunch if I had to wipe my dog’s ass. Weird.
In closing, this post probably just made you gag, and I’m sorry about that. Folks, all I have to talk about these days is poop. My world revolves around it. Well, I could tell you all about how pregnancy is making me psychotic, but that’s another post for another time.
I’m off to enjoy a family dinner and the fact that Scott is home from work and on potty training duty the rest of the night.
Kendall is 2 and I’m 17 weeks pregnant