Pooping. Alone. Yeah, right.

Doesn’t anyone think it’s unfair that your kids get to crap with the luxury of their own time while you–the parent–are practically tearing your sphincter in half trying to squeeze that poop out at the speed of light before one of the kids decides to impale the other?

Seriously. I think there should “parent counseling” before you’re allowed to have children similar to marriage counseling. It would go like this:

Counselor: “So, you think you’re ready to have a baby?”
Prospective Parents: “Yes! We can’t wait!”
Counselor: “Do you realize that pooping will never be the same again?”
Prospective Parents: “Uh, I guess so… Hadn’t really thought about it.”
Counselor: “Really. As in, you’ll be sitting on the pot with children on the other side screaming your name. It will be like being surrounded by mini paparazzi sans cameras, but louder.”
Prospective Parents: “Okay, well, we’ll manage.”
Counselor: “And you’ll need to poop so bad. You’ll be in the middle of trying to squeeze out a gnarly one and grunting answers to questions at the same time. Like, ‘Your sippy cuuuuuuup is by the FRIIIIIIIIIDGE!’ Here, why don’t you two go hide in the bathroom and we’ll practice”
Prospective Parents: “Um… maybe we’ll wait a couple years…”

Of all the things you have to do as a parent like cleaning up explosive newborn diapers that go all the way to the baby’s neck or scrubbing permanent markers off the wall or standing on stools to pull sticky-hand toys off the ceiling, you’d think we parents would have earned at least a few minutes to do the deed in peace and quiet.

But no. No. No. No.

As I went to the restroom today, the first thing I hear after sitting down is a small voice on the other side of the door calling, “I need to use the bathroom bad!”

Seriously? There are three other bathrooms in our house and this is the one you choose???

“Go upstairs!” I call.

“I don’t want to go upstairs alone,” he whines.

Of course. But that’s why you have siblings. For this sole purpose.

“Take Z-boy with you!” I command.

My yell is met with another voice.

“Hey Mom, why do you have Roblox on your computer?”

Oh! For the love of–

“I’M POOPING! I’M NOT ANSWERING ANY QUESTIONS UNLESS THERE’S BLOOD INVOLVED!”

Silence. Then K-girl wailing in her nasal, sing-song voice from the kitchen table where she had been pleasantly finishing her supper. “I’m dooooone! I’m doooooone!”

“Z-boy,” I cry, “Can you help her down?!”

Honestly? Can’t they go two seconds without me? I mean, it’s nice to be needed, but this is ridiculous.

And then, “Mommy?! Where’s Mommy?!”

Okay. That’s it. I’m done. Maybe I can slide my underwear underneath the door and wave them like the white flag of surrender. Next time I see a toddler crapping in their pants at their own leisure, I’ll try not to be too jealous.

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She’s Gonna Crap Her Pants, Isn’t She?

Timing is everything.

For example, I finally have the timing worked out perfectly for picking up TheLittlePrince from preschool. I know down-to-the-minute what time I need to start getting K-girl ready and corralled into the van in order to get to the preschool just in time to pick up TheLittlePrince.

That may sound trivial to you, but in toddler-land, arriving too early and having to wait for anything more than 2 minutes can mean the difference between a peaceful car ride…

…and utter toddler tantrum, banshee wailing, Barbie-throwing Hell.

Today’s pick up routine started perfectly.

***Cue ominous music. Dun dun DUN!***

Anyone with kids knows that even the best laid plans can go awry.

And mine did. It’s my fault really. I messed with the routine. I messed with the balance of the universe. I dared to look into the face of the Heavens and say, “Try me!”

Well, actually, I just ran upstairs to change my shoes.

But that’s when it happened. That’s when my toddler said, “Challenge accepted.”

Okay, that’s not true either. K-girl’s exact words were, “I pooped!”

So, yeah, that sucks when your kid poops at the last minute when you’re trying to get out the door. You guys get it. The real problem is…

…K-girl is potty trained. And there was a suspicious lump sticking out from the back of her perfectly formed toddler-tushy. And then she was looking at me with this expression that said, “I pooped! Good for me! Hmm, Mom doesn’t look super excited, though. I wonder why–ohhhh, yeeeeaaah! I’m supposed to be using the potty now! Ha ha! I always forget! My bad! Oh crap, mom looks like she’s about to crap her pants! I know, I’ll act like it was an accident and then she’ll feel so bad and tell me it’s okay because accidents happen… Right???”

***Cue crying toddler wailing, “Ewwww!”***

You can probably imagine my expression of motherly frustration. After all, they say girls are easier to potty train. I’ve already paid my dues with 3 boys! K-girl is supposed to make this easy for me! I trusted her!

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But then fate looks down on me and smiles, and by some miracle, I actually arrive at preschool on time! Sweet!

I was, however, late picking up the boys from school, but that’s a whole other blog post.