Monday, October 25, 2010


When I got pregnant two years ago, I, like all parents-to-be, made all kinds of vows to myself. No freaking out, good discipline, no yammering on about my kid to people who don't care, blah, blah.  But above all there was one thing that overshadowed the other stuff.

I would not talk about poop.

No. Poop. Talk.

Poop talk embodies everything about mothers that I can't stand. This is the thing - I'm not a kid person.  B is a kid person.  He'll take a genuine and loving interest in all of your kids.  In strangers' kids, in his own kids, whatever.  I am not made like this.

Of the many traits I inherited from my mother, one of the big ones was this: I obsessively love my own kid, but I don't really care about yours.  I'm happy you had them and I'm glad you're raising them well, but let's not talk about it. Let's talk about interesting things instead.  Or martinis, whatever.

And maybe it's the product of being a stay at home mom.  I don't get the grown-up talk and the intellectual stimulation that comes with having a job, so when I get to talk to people over two feet tall, I prefer to talk about big girl stuff.  Remember last weekend when we went to Connecticut to see some family friends?  B spent the whole time talking politics with the husband and I spent the whole time talking about the latest books and studies regarding early childhood education with the wife.  Made us SO happy.

So, poop.  So, for me, inflicting other innocent bystanders with talk of my child's poop just epitomizes everything that shouldn't happen.

That being said...

I HAVE to tell you a story that involves poop.  HOWEVER, it also involves nudity, so I'm hoping that will increase the comedic factor and you'll forgive me for the poop factor.

Every Thursday morning Charlotte takes a toddler music class. The whole reason she's in the class is because she LOVES music so we thought this would be a fun way to encourage that.  I thought it would just be a bunch of short people banging on things, but it's actually really focused and well run and I spend most of the class dragging my I-love-to-dance-and-be-the-center-of-attention daughter out of the middle of the circle so that other kids can have a chance in there as well. And then the teacher is forced to say things like "I know, Charlotte, the drums that Miss Tonya is getting are going to be really fun, but first you have to go sit down, ok?" Sigh.

The class has been the first social thing we've done since moving here and it's been a great way to meet people I'm not related to.  I mean, the people I'm related to really rock, but it's clearly unhealthy not to expand the circle a little.

So after the last class one of the moms I met (who happened to go to high school with B) was telling me that her daughter had pooped in the bathtub the other day and it was really crazy and surprising and she just stood there and didn't know what to do.  And then there was bleach and a shower, etc. 

And now it's a week later.  I'm in the living room realizing that we have to leave for class in a little over an hour and I haven't showered in an awkwardly long time. I put Charlotte in her booster seat with some toys on the bathroom floor and shower.  While I'm in there I'm trying to figure out how I can also get her clean. It won't work to bring her in there with me because then I have to somehow get both of us ready at once.

Then I come up with the brilliant plan to let her have a bath while I'm getting ready. GENIUS! So I let her take a bath and play with her toys while I put my makeup on and blow dry my hair.  It's a total win-win.  She's contained and occupied (the two biggest factors related to toddlers), while I'm next to her getting ready.

I have one brief flashback to last week's conversation and think about how that's never happened to us and then think: we'll... it just can't happen, and that's all there is to it.

And then karma says, Suck it, bitch!

I look over and there is POOP in the bathtub. Real, grown-up looking, POOP.  And then the next few minutes goes something like this:

(And this is audible, I am in no way saying this stuff in my head)

Oh my God, I literally don't even know what to do!
Okay.. Okay...
What do I do first?
No, stay over here (holding her hand while I make her stand near the back of the tub)
(more hand holding and removal)

At this point I grab whatever cleaner is within hand's reach, which happens to be glass cleaner. 

Whatever, cleaner is cleaner, it's bound to do something.
No, stay over here, honey.
Oh Jesus, I never even washed you yet! DAMNIT!
What time is it?  .... DAAAAAMMMMITTTTT!!!!

Now I give her a kind of standing sponge bath 

And NOW is when you start wondering where does the nudity come in?? Was it Charlotte's nudity?? And now is when I tell you that this ENTIRE SERIES OF EVENTS OCCURRED WHILE I WAS NAKED.


I was in full makeup, with blown out hair, and NAKED while I was scrambling around the world's smallest bathroom, throwing out poop, cleaning up poop, wrangling the toddler away from the poop, and TRYING TO GET TO HER FUCKING MUSIC CLASS!


Illuminating the bathroom with skin so brilliantly white that it negates the need for electricity. And yet, somehow, we made it there with five minutes to spare. And the whole time all I could think was
I cannot WAIT to get out of here to start texting this to people!


feather nester said...

Congratulations! You've graduated to a new echelon of parenthood. You may think this is as X-Games-like as it gets, but just wait until she stops a plane during push-back...or poop falls out of her diaper onto the floor while you're waiting in line at UPS...or you're cleaning puke off her bed, her body, and your face at 1:00 am. The fun never stops. Sounds like you handled this little test with aplomb. Go on, my naked sistah!

Wonderland said...

hahahahahaahhahahahahah!!!! Awesome. Best laugh I've had all day!! Thank you. And PS: I also try to edit the details of my job as well when I'm talking to other people, so I understand what you were saying in the beginning of this post. But, sometimes when the story is THIS good, I believe you are totally justified in sharing!)

die Frau said...

I think that particular scatological* story was fanTAStic. And hilarious. Nobody tells you about THAT particular milestone in the books, I'd wager.

*Yes, I'm a dork. It means, in basest terms, poop-related. My colleague referenced scatological humor in her Media Analysis class by showing the farting scene from Blazing Saddles.

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