Life with Small Children, or Eeeewww. Gross!

Really, this is pretty gross. If you don’t have small kids, or you’re set twitching by an opening line like “I use non-disposable feminine hygiene products,” this is your chance to click away.
Okay.

I use non-disposable feminine hygiene products. Gladrags, in fact. They’re great. I soak them in a bowl of water before I wash them. I put this bowl up out of reach of small children.

Or so I thought.

Yesterday, I walked into the bathroom to see the sodden pads on the floor, and two-year-old paidhi boy drinking from my soaking bowl. It was empty by the time I got ahold of it. Now, he could have emptied the bowl and refilled it, he knows how to use the sink and that’s a favorite trick of his. But still.

So, I think, nothing can possibly be that yucky today. Then five-year old Paidhi Girl says, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Okay,” I say, “go stand over the toilet.” Before I can join her in the bathroom, she comes back out saying she doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore. “Oh, good!” I tell her. She promptly tosses her cookies on the hallway floor. Literally–I discovered that she and Paidhi Boy had managed to snag a bag of Chips Ahoy off the shelf and spent a contented five minutes behind the big living room chair devouring the entire contents of said bag, leading to this rather messy result. She was distressed at having lost it in the hallway. “That’s okay,” I tell her, “but go stand over the toilet now.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m done now.”

She wasn’t.

Well, I think, it can’t get any worse than that. Paidhi Boy is working on the whole concept of using the potty, which requires lots of mopping up mistakes, but I’m used to that by now. I’ve even gotten used to anticipating his overwhelming desire to pee on sheets of paper. (He lays them out very carefully, and lets fly. I can usually tell when he’s setting one up.) But today, I discovered that he likes to sing. He sang, and sang, and sang, squatting on the living room floor. Yes, you can see what’s coming, although I didn’t. “How nice,” I think, “he’s singing.” Nonsense words, random pitches. I go out of the room to do something else. I come back.

“You pooped on the floor! Please poop in the potty!” I tell him, pointing to the training potty mere feet away.

“Poop!” he says happily. “Poop! Yay!” And wanders off to the bathroom, where, singing again, he climbs up on the closed toilet and pees on the lid.

So, as bedtime mercifully approaches, I think I’m nearly out of the woods, when I realize that I have failed to catch yet another accident. The little bottom is messy. He was singing just a few minutes ago! I know there’s something, somewhere.

But I can’t find it. It’s not in the living room, I’ve looked in every corner of the dining room. The bathroom seems clean, the bedrooms, the hallway–I swear, I’ve looked everywhere.

I know it’s out there. Waiting. Waiting for me to pick up a laundry basket so I can’t see exactly where I’m putting my feet.

Eeewww, gross.

Thank you. You have, in one post, reaffirmed my belief in my personal barreness.

Yick.

My only gross story.

Couple months ago, I was at my sister’s house, and won the honor of holding Lizardboy. Lizardboy prompty spit up on me, right above the neck of my shirt and everything went under the shirt. :eek:

Bren, if my cackling wakes up my daughter, it’s all your fault.

We’re trying to sidle into potty training, and have in fact used the seat two or three times successfully, but for the most part, she’s just not interested yet.

I am dreading the days ahead.

But I’m still gigglin’ like a fool at this image:

The first story. :eek:

The second story…my son is coming around to that age. I am not particularly looking forward to it.

Why. Oh. Why. Do. I. Open. These. Threads.

That said, ROFLOL! This is why I’m grateful for being only 14 and having a kid sister old enough to know that poop and piss go in the toilet and not the floor… Staggers off, still giggling

Oh, I can SO relate.

I have a 3 1/2 yo son and a 1 1/2 yo daughter. Never a dull moment, but they crack me up. A typical conversation with Littlepoet (my son) goes something like this now:
Me (sniffing suspiciously): Are you poopy?
LP: No, I not poopy. I big and big and BIG!
Me: Yes, I know you are. But are you POOPY? Cause you smell poopy.
LP: No, BABY poopy. Baby small. I big and big and BIG!
…this goes on for a minute or two, until he owns up:
LP: I poopy.
Me: 'Kay, let’s change your diaper.
LP (pointing): See? I BIG poopy!

I think he may have size issues.

Mwah ha ha ha!

This line cracks me up:

And the only reason it cracks me up is because I imagine a poopy hiding on the floor in camoflage (a la “Predator”), waiting to silently fling itself at your feet.

Thanks for a giggle that will last all day! :smiley:

I streched out on the living room carpet, put a pillow under my head and tried to relax for a few minutes after a rough week of 14 hour days and international travel. Hmmm, I thought to myself, this pillow smells like cat pee.

We don’t own a cat.

China bambina has been diaper free for quite a few months. Never fails to amaze me how many times you can ask her if she has to go, she says no, and not 30 seconds later is happily peeing in your lap.

screech-owl, glad to be of service. :slight_smile:

Skeezix and LolaBaby, you have my sympathies.

So far, I’ve found Hershey minibars and kisses to be invaluable, though not infallible. I first decided the Paidhi Boy was ready when I found him in the dining room, very carefully peeing into a plastic cup. I decided right then and there that it was time to take a more aggressive approach to the issue. So whenever I saw or heard something coming, I picked up the naked child and placed him on the potty, and then wiped up the mess. If, by some bizarre twist of fate, something actually got in the potty, he got a piece of candy.

It took several days for him to figure it out. But when he did, oh, boy! I could see the wheels turning as I handed him his kiss, and he went straight back to the potty to squeeze out a little more and see if what he suspected was actually true. It was–more chocolate! Yay! It was lather, rinse, repeat for the next hour, and the samples were getting smaller and smaller, but he kept managing to come up with some! His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk with all the chocolate. As soon as he’d get a kiss in his mouth, it was straight back to the potty to earn another one. Hey, this is easy! I thought.

But the next morning he peed on the floor. “Pee in the potty,” I told him.

“Mmmm…no.” was his answer.

“I’ll give you chocolate if you pee in the potty,” I told him. I swear there was a sonic boom as he headed for the potty.

But lately he’s decided he doesn’t want anyone telling him where to pee, and it’s a conflict now between his desire for chocolate and applause and his desire to show he won’t be dictated to. Oh, and then there’s the weird paper fetish. I just don’t get that.

It won’t last forever. I keep telling myself that.

screech-owl, glad to be of service. :slight_smile:

Skeezix and LolaBaby, you have my sympathies.

So far, I’ve found Hershey minibars and kisses to be invaluable, though not infallible. I first decided the Paidhi Boy was ready when I found him in the dining room, very carefully peeing into a plastic cup. I decided right then and there that it was time to take a more aggressive approach to the issue. So whenever I saw or heard something coming, I picked up the naked child and placed him on the potty, and then wiped up the mess. If, by some bizarre twist of fate, something actually got in the potty, he got a piece of candy.

It took several days for him to figure it out. But when he did, oh, boy! I could see the wheels turning as I handed him his kiss, and he went straight back to the potty to squeeze out a little more and see if what he suspected was actually true. It was–more chocolate! Yay! It was lather, rinse, repeat for the next hour, and the samples were getting smaller and smaller, but he kept managing to come up with some! His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk with all the chocolate. As soon as he’d get a kiss in his mouth, it was straight back to the potty to earn another one. Hey, this is easy! I thought.

But the next morning he peed on the floor. “Pee in the potty,” I told him.

“Mmmm…no.” was his answer.

“I’ll give you chocolate if you pee in the potty,” I told him. I swear there was a sonic boom as he headed for the potty.

But lately he’s decided he doesn’t want anyone telling him where to pee, and it’s a conflict now between his desire for chocolate and applause and his desire to show he won’t be dictated to. Oh, and then there’s the weird paper fetish. I just don’t get that.

It won’t last forever. I keep telling myself that.

I still haven’t found it. I’m having a terrifying vision.

1,000 years in the future, a team or archaeologists uncovers a residential site in what used to be the mid-western United States.

First Archaeologist: “This is fantastic! I’ve never seen such a find–there must be hundreds of pacifiers here. Why would anyone need so many? You couldn’t possibly lose them this fast.”

Second Archaeologist: “Amazing! Perhaps this was a site of manufacture, or a pacifier warehouse.”

First Archaeologist: “And what’s this box, here?”

Second Archaeologist: “You mean that elaborately carved wooden box with the mysterious symbols on it? I don’t know.”

First Archaeologist: “Hmm. That one there looks like the ancient sign for “biohazard.” And this one–this one is usually translated as “Pure Evil.”

Second Archaeologist: “Let’s open it.”

They open the box.

First Archaeologist: (frowns) “How strange! It looks just like a pile of…AAAAAAARGHHHHHH!”

Several months later, thousands of miles away, at The Museum.

Curator 1: “Look, here’s the shipment from Wilberforce’s doomed expedition. I suppose we’ll never know what happened to them.”

Curator 2: “I suppose not. It’s all very mysterious. Did Wilberforce’s notes not shed any light on the matter?”

Curator 1: “None at all. Some nonsense about a box, I suppose he meant this one.” (he gestures to the wooden box, sitting open on his desk.) “The last page read, “Don’t open the box. The box is pure evil. The others are all dead, and it’s coming for me now, it AAAAAAARGHH” ”

Curator 2: “AAAAAAARGHH?”

Curator 1: “That’s what it says, right there on the page. I wonder why he would go to the trouble of writing that out?”

Curator 2: “Perhaps he died while he was dictating.” (sniffs) “What’s that smell?”

Having given birth to my own rugrat, the notion of wiping the bums of other people doesn’t bother me anymore. And during breastfeeding class, I found the slides of poopy diapers to be fascinating.

I can’t wait till Aaron’s old enough to potty train.

Robin

Hey, my youngest son’s named Aaron, too :slight_smile:

We’ve got to start toilet training him soon; he turned two on 4/27 of this year.

I am not looking forward to it.

My little dude is still in diapers, but years ago, I spent some time with friends who were in the middle of potty-training thier little dude. One day, I hear him squealing with delight and he comes running down the hall yelling “Momma Momma Look Look!!”

Down the hall, on the floor, was the hugest turd I have ever seen! This this was a 4 pounder at least! How did such a huge turd come out of such a small kid???

If I laid one that big today, I’d be excited and yelling for people to come look and admire it, too! :smiley:


She said she loved me like a brother. She’s from Arkansas, hence the Joy!

My little girl’s mud has been extra poopery as of late.

I take those diapers and throw them in the abandoned missle silo behind the house.

Periodically the Army goes in there. I think they’re doing some kind of biowarfare testing or something.

Wierd huh?

Great post, Bren, you had me lauging out loud and your kids sound like a trip.

My son’s only 15 months, so potty training is still a bit into our future. I just know it’s going to be scads of fun though. Just the other day he was in the tub playing with his boats while I was tinkering on my computer. Suddenly, I noticed that things had gotten very quiet in the bathroom. Beset with visions of babies floating in two inches of water, I rushed in to find him happily smearing his shit all over the wall beside the tub.

“Gaaaahhhhhh!” I shouted.

“heeeheeeheee” <smear, splat>, he replied.

“That’s so gross!” I told him.
He laughed, I sighed.

I dwelled for a bit on how to best extract him from the now polluted bathwater without making the situation worse.
Deciding things could probably be much, much worse I relaxed enough to pull him from the tub with a smile.

“Don’t do that anymore, okay bubby?” I requested of him sweetly as I bent to pull the plug on the cesspool. Of course, as soon as my head turned he dropped the super-secret extra piece of poo he’d been holding onto down the back of my shirt.
Ick to the infinity.

I drained and scrubbed the tub and we both got back in for a shower.

bella

Oh man, Bren, your story has me laughing so hard I can’t do stop my kid from eating the peach she just snitched.

We’re working on potty training, but we haven’t gotten to your level yet. Wow. But! There was a period there when the Kidlet would wake up in the morning, take off all her clothes, and play happily. We were duct-taping her diaper to her, but forgot sometimes. Then one morning we were just waking up when we heard a screech–“Oh no! Messymessymessy! AAAAAAAAAAaaaa!” Sure enough, she was naked and had pooped in her crib, and was now upset about it.

All of this is bringing on flashbacks I’d rather not remember. Eeeeeee!!! I can only pass on the wisdom that was given to me when I was stymied trying to “train” Lil Lestat… Don’t worry, he won’t be going to Kindergarten in diapers. Good luck finding the hidden poo. Just follow your nose.

There’s a nice nursing home euphamism for smearing Shit alll over the place.

“digging and painting”

As in “Mary was digging and painting tonight, and we are wondering if we can give her something to… ummmm close the gallery?”

Somehow, I dont think MUCH is going to phase me when Im a mommy, Ive seen most of it already… in larger quantities,…
(sorry for the highjack…)