If you’ve been following my blog, then you probably know that I’ve been potty training my youngest daughter. She just turned three and we’ve been at it for about three weeks. I thought you might like to know how it’s going. She and I have been in a battle over pottying for the past year and a half, and you’re about to get the play by play. This is going to be gross, so consider yourself warned and proceed at your own risk.
When my precious baby was one and a half, I went to get her out of her crib one morning and she was covered head to toe in poop. For real. See the picture if you think I’m lying. I saw her and walked calmly out of the room and ran for my camera. I’m sure she’ll be tortured by that little incident (and the photo) for years.
You see, she was young enough to be completely intrigued by her leaking diaper, instead of being grossed out like she should have been. But sadly she was old enough to have thought it was paint, because she had it smeared everywhere. Thankfully my sister, who is a nurse, was visiting and got to help with the clean up. She took the kid, and I took the room. Not sure who got the better end of that deal. From that day on, she slept in long sleeved footed pajamas with a zipper. We put them on backwards, sort of like a straight jacket, so that she could not get out of them and into any mischief.
Fast forward to a few months ago at one of our Auburn football tailgates. We had a huge group at our usual spot with a bunch of adults and about five million kids between us. Maybe not five million, but A LOT of kids. We had a huge food spread, and lots of fun and festivities were going on before the big game. My daughter decides it’s a good time to have the most disgusting leaking dirty diaper that I have ever seen.
Somehow I remained calm and went for the diaper bag. I had packed it full with all the supplies I might need, since we literally had to park about a mile away from the tailgate spot. I had to be prepared! When I opened it up, there were TWO wipes left. Yes, I said two. All of the kids at the tailgate had been using my wipes to clean their sticky faces and hands. Are you kidding me?
That’s when I learned who my true friends were. NOBODY! My husband and best friends all stood at a distance to watch and see how I was going to handle this disaster. I took my shoes off (not sure why, but it seemed to convey my seriousness) and got down in the grass to clean up the mess. Picture this though. Throngs of college age students were walking by this scene and were practically vomiting in the bushes over the sight of it. I think I provided a birth control plan for at least fifty Auburn University students that day.
Meanwhile, friends and husband are still watching from a distance. Some start snapping pictures, others are looking away trying to avoid getting roped into helping. Some of my lawyer friends at the tailgate were documenting the incident in case it was ever brought to trial. One of my sweet friends finally took pity on my and came over with some paper towels and bottled water. Somehow, at least a roll of paper towels and a six pack of water later we got her clean.
Here we are now several months later. We’ve been potty training for a few weeks, and she can go pee-pee in the potty with no problem. I’m happy for that, don’t get me wrong. But, we’ve still got a long way to go. The poop. Today was a usual Thursday afternoon for me. Work, orthodontist for child three, ballet for child two, zumba for me. I look forward to my zumba class like nothing else. My teacher is a rock star. Literally. Her class is so popular that even gym members have to get there thirty minutes early to get a ticket to get in. After about 75 of us are there the bouncer starts turning people away at the door. I love it.
So, I get there early, take the kids to childcare, get my rock star teacher zumba ticket, turn it in to the bouncer, wait for class to start, and get to zumbaing. Today I’m super pumped because I’m trying my new five finger shoes. They’re ugly, but I’ve heard great things about them, so I was giving them a try. About twenty minutes into the class, this official looking gym man comes into the class and screams to the instructor “POLLY TO CHILD CARE.” Because we were in the dark and rocking hard no one could really hear him, so rock star zumba teacher gets to announce it on the mic. Lucky me.
I go quickly to the child care hoping that none of my children are injured and what do I find? My sweet potty training three year old daughter sitting in the corner of the room covered from the waist down in poop. Pants are brown, it’s in the socks, it’s everywhere. Not kidding. All of the kids in the child care had circled her. Some were screaming, some were running away, others holding their noses. One said, “It’s not blood, it’s poop!” The worker was spraying disinfectant. Children were falling apart. Their parents are going to be bringing them to my office for treatment tomorrow.
I maintain my cool (and strong desire to walk out and go back to zumba) and ask the worker if she has any wipes. No. She doesn’t. And guess who had a diaper bag full of diapers, pull ups, panties, clothes, and NO WIPES? Me! Are you kidding me? The worker does have garbage bags. She hands me four and sends me on my way. I lined the car seat with them, because at the moment I could think of nothing else to do but get the heck out of there!
On the way out the door I called my husband to make sure he was going to be home to help me when I got there. He’s not sure after he hears why. I can’t blame him, but thankfully he meets me at the door with a garbage bag and somehow we get her clean after approximately 100 wipes. Everything she had on went in the trash. Even after a shower and a bottle of vodka, I mean hand sanitizer, I’m not sure I’m recovered. Or if I ever will be. And unless you want to hear this story again, don’t ask me how the potty training is going. Or if I have any wipes.Pin It