Dear reader, you have no idea how difficult writing this post was. I am naturally a “lowest hanging fruit” sort of joke-maker, and discussing poop is a loaded topic. I could squeeze out bad joke after bad joke for this one! I wanted so badly to dump every idiomatic expression about dookie into this post and I had so many puns lined up, but I held it all in. So here goes: Potty Training, Part Deux. 

Teaching Boychild to pee on the potty was amazingly uncomplicated. It was a breeze! Who knew? Also, who knew that teaching him to poop on the potty would be traumatic? Our first pants-poop was expected. Then it happened again. And again. We had the following conversation around Day 3:

“I want to poop in a diaper.”

“ We’re not going to poop in a diaper again. We’re pooping on the potty.”

“But I had so much fun.” 

“Pooping in the diaper?”

“Yeah.”

BC pooped in his pants that morning, and peed in his pants at the library. Luckily, we had a change of pants and new underpants. Wait. No we didn’t. I had to sprint back to our house to grab a change of clothes while my wonderboy went commando in his snow pants (remember this was in February). If I could go back in time, I would tell past-me that I should never go out of the house without a change of pants, underpants and socks (yes, socks!). I would also tell past-me to buy a million rolls of toilet paper, a case of wine and some Ativan. 

A few days later, we went to visit Quarry Hill School, a lovely little pre- school that his dad attended when he was a wee babe. Our trek would’ve normally taken 45 minutes or so, but because we were just getting the hang of this potty training thing, it took us about an hour and a half.  We packed the potty in the car and stopped about three times during the 35 mile journey.   When we finally arrived, I asked Boychild to sit on a little bench so I could take off his shoes, but he misunderstood and instead pulled his pants and underpants down in front of the whole preschool. I said, “No, no, baby, we’re not on the potty. Mama just needs to take off your shoes!”

A few minutes into visiting with the other kids, dad noticed a little nugget trailing out from behind him. Boychild had expelled some little deer poops into his underpants and was slowly drobbling them down a pant leg. How did those turds escape? We don’t know. We think it was some sort of Poo-dini type escape magic (sorry, I couldn’t help myself).  Dad took him to the restroom and cleaned him up, much to the curiosity of all the little kids at the school kept opening the bathroom door to see my bare-assed child getting cleaned up. 

A week later, Husband and Boychild went to the park where, YAY! Boychild poops in the travel pot we have in the backseat of the Subaru.They come home and go “What’s that smell? DOes one of the cats have a dingleberry? What’s happening? Did you? Oh GOD!”

Our lovely child made a Big Ole Goopy Biscuit (with some tiny nuggets for texture) in his french bulldog underpants.

Y’all, it was all down his leg, in his britches. It got on my sleeve. We had a blend of poo and grosser poo. Ugh. I nearly passed out from the nasty. I come from a family of nurses, so I am well acquainted with all the disgusting things a human body produces. BUT! I went into theater so I wouldn’t have to wipe butts and clean hineys . . .  (insert joke about working in the theater here). Hearing about gross stuff and dealing with gross stuff first-hand is a very different thing and I don’t have the wherewithal to withstand stanky butts. I have a pretty strong constitution, but doo-doo is my undoing. 

So here’s a question- how does one get poops out from a pair of underpants while one’s child is still wearing the underpants? Is there a technique for this? Some ancient secret? When a child is writhing, and you’re trying to get crap-filled pants off of them, it just never ends well. 

I had unwittingly pulled his loaded underpants off earlier, unleashing  a pinata of poops which spread around the living room. One rolled into the heating grate. Or was that a runaway cat poop that had always been there? Who knows. Anyhow, I steam-cleaned the floor then and I wanted to avoid having to do that twice in a day.  I gingerly took his pants down- slowly, slowly, trying not to disturb the demons within. Then I put those utterly destroyed underpants in a bag and buried them in the backyard. 

The underwear poops kept happening, and we didn’t know why. Was he too busy to realize he had to poo? Was he afraid the little potty was going to eat his butt? Dunno, but we found something that really worked: Bribery. Every time BC had a BM on the potty, he earned 30 minutes of “pachu” time (his word for the iPad) and some pretzel fishy snacks (pretzel goldfish). What he likes best is playing Mad Birds (Angry Birds). He’s gotten very good at flinging birds at piggies, and so far, his poops have remained in the pot. He’s a pro-pooper now! We make sure to be consistent and we have an extra pair of pants, socks and underpants on hand at all times. And oh my lord, I never ever want to be as intimately acquainted with human caca ever again. I mean, ever. No. No thanks. Please let this be the end of this.