May 28, 2012 by lytlejoc
DISCLAIMER: This post is not about a DIY project. I am currently between projects and have a few more things to do before I can blog about the ones that I’ve just finished. This post is about poop.
If you don’t like poop stories, I advise you to stop reading right now. Also, I am surprised – I thought everyone liked poop stories.
My six month old son recently pooped in the toilet.
I’ve recently read about “elimination communication” and while I am all for going green, that is just too green for me. I can’t even use cloth diapers – after a few failed attempts involving a lot of screaming and complaining (from Toby and Scott), it just didn’t work and so I throw lots of disposable diapers out every day. I try to make up for it in other places, but the option of watching Toby’s face for every sign of approaching bowel movement or oncoming pee is a bit too much for me. Sometimes I am barely able to keep up with him just doing the regular parenting things. *Update: I want to laud all you parents who practice EC, however. You are amazing.
A few nights ago, however, I was giving him a bath and in mid-splash, he froze and began to grunt and arch his back. Without thinking, I whisked him out of the tub and sat him on the toilet, as fishing poo out of the tub is not high on my list of fun things to do. He protested and farted, but nothing happened. I put him back in the tub and we finished bath time without incident, but as soon as I got his clean diaper on, pop! there was the poop I had been expecting.
The next night, I was washing dishes while Scott gave Toby his bedtime bath. From the bathroom I could hear Scott playing with Toby along with splashing and giggling – the usual contented bath time sounds. As I was sudsing one of the last few pots, I heard Scott’s voice: “Oh… Ohhh… AHHHHHH!!!”
Immediately, I thought, “Toby just pooped in the tub.” I wondered, briefly, if I should go check on what happened, and then I smiled evilly to myself and continued my chore. Five minutes later, Scott emerged from the bathroom with a grinning, towel covered baby, wearing an expression of disgust mingled with just a hint of amusement. I pulled the plug from the sink and casually asked, “Did, uh, something happen in there?”
“Yep,” said Scott. “Toby pooped in the tub.”
Amid my peals of laughter, Scott told me how Toby had done the very things I watched him do the night before, right before “releasing the crappen”, as he eloquently put it.
The next night, Scott’s family was over for dinner and after Toby finished supper, I put him in the tub for our regular routine. Right in the middle of smiling up at me as I sang “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”, which is a favorite bath time song of his, Toby froze and began to arch his back. I faltered. “Down came the… oh boy…”
An ominous bubbling fizzled up between his legs. I waited a second and when nothing seemed to be happening, continued singing. “…rain and washed the spider…”
Bubble, bubble, bubble…
Leaping into action, I yanked Toby out of the tub and plunked him on the toilet. He looked me full in the face with an expression of extreme concentration and then
He pooped in the toilet.
Just as I had finished cheering him on and showing him what a great job he had done with the rather large deposit he had left in the toilet, our sister-in-law poked her head into the bathroom to see how bath time was going, because who doesn’t like to see a chubby baby enjoying a good bath? Her cheery greeting died halfway out of her mouth as her eyes fell on the floating log Toby had left behind, and a look of sheer horror and embarrassment washed over her features.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” she moaned as she backed out of the bathroom. It took me a moment to realize her misunderstanding but I quickly saw that she believed herself to have interrupted ME – dropping a deuce while Toby was bathing. And why wouldn’t she? The last thing anyone would expect would be that of the two of us, the six month old was the one who had dutifully used the facilities as they are intended.
After my bout of hysterical laughter and shouted explanations, the relief that she emitted was palpable and together we proclaimed the rather unbelievable news out the window to the rest of the family. I have to admit, I am immensely glad that she did walk in when she did – I mean, who would have believed me??
I harbour no delusions that my kid is toilet trained at six months of age, nor do I think that was a successful first step in elimination communication. I do know, however, that if a bath is going to trigger him to want to drop the kids off at the pool, so to speak, I am going to make sure they get to the right one.
A note to Future Toby: if for some reason you are reading this, I am sorry if I embarrassed you. But c’mon, it’s a great story, isn’t it??