Last night I came face to face with my arch nemesis, the maker of my nightmares, the thing that has haunted these last 11 years of parenting.  Poop.  More specifically, poop as a play thing.

I should start by saying I knew this day would come and I knew it would be Mack.  He’s the most curious and upwardly mobile of my three.  He has no problem whipping off his diaper whenever the mood strikes and he has access and he hasn’t been exactly cooperative about using the potty.

It all began innocently enough.  I changed Mack’s diaper and left him diaper free.  We’ve used Elimination Communication since he was about 6 weeks old, but he’s been resistant about pottying in the last couple months since he clearly has other things on his agenda like crawling, walking, and cutting 8 new teeth at once.  Priorities.  He tooted a couple times so I put him on the potty again but he threw himself overboard and I just decided to let it go and sit down with the Man who was eating his dinner after getting home late.

Fast forward 3 minutes and the Man says, rather  nonchalantly given the gravity of the situation, ‘Mack pooped’.  I think ‘oh he did?… Oh, s@#$ he has no diaper on!!’ I whipped my head in his direction and at first I didn’t see it; hard wood floors are very good at camouflaging breastfed based poop (let that be a warning).  But then I saw it.  And I freaked out.  I raced over to pick up up and held him Jesus-on-the-cross like with his hands as far away from his body as possible while the Man, well, just sat there.

I can do vomit.  I can do vomit in the middle of the night.  I can do vomit in the car.  But poop?  I’ve been known to hurl when dealing with the older kids poop.  I’m not a particularly queasy, spleeny person, but for some reason poop is my Achilles heal.

So there I am, bent over, holding Mack who has no idea what the hell is going on.  One minute he’s playing with one of Hopper’s baby toys she brought over from the OtherMother’s house, the next he’s suspended in mid-air covered stem to stern in his own poo.  Did I mention he was writhing, trying to escape my death grip, while I was begging the man for help, while I was trying not to throw up on the both of us, and did I also mention that this child is very, very strong for a baby?  He’s all muscle, I swear.

The Man… his response? “What do you want me to do?” in a mildly annoyed tone that made me feel not-so-mildly homicidal.

For starters, take this kid so I don’t frost this hot mess with my half-digested dinner. Thankfully he was done eating and did just as I asked him or he might have found himself sleeping out in his car (or visiting me in my private, padded room at the hospital). I check my feet, didn’t step in it, THANK GOD, then run upstairs to get the baby wipes which I ONLY buy so I won’t have to help my older kids wipe their poop.  For a lady with poop issues we seem to have a lot of them around here.  But I digress.

Seven thousand baby wipes later and a mostly wiped down but thoroughly pissed off baby was trotted off to a very extensive (I hope) bath.  I think I used a dozen wipes on his hands alone.  Shudder.

For the next several hours, after the baby was long asleep, I continued to pepper the Man with questions… “you washed him up really well, with soap, right?”, “did you wash his neck, because I thought I might have smelled, um, when I was nursing him…”, “did you get in his ears, just in case?”, “oh god I hope he didn’t eat any”.

In the end I didn’t throw up, I didn’t kill the Man, and I learned a very important lesson about bare-bottomed, farting babies.

What is your parenting Achilles heal?


photo credit: texmex5 via photopin cc


8 thoughts on “achilles

  1. potty training and tooth brushing. potty training scares the crap out of me ans tooth brushing is just plain awful.

    • those two are rough. thankfully my kids have always been pretty good about tooth brushing. potty training with my oldest – ha… my middle was a breeze (we used EC with her and she was totally trained at 18mos)… and this one… well, the jury is still out on the littlest but I think I have an inkling where we’re headed. oof. thanks for commenting 🙂

      • Elimination Communication, also known as infant potty learning, infant potty training, etc. Basically it’s paying attention to your baby’s elimination patterns and ‘catching’ pee and poop on the potty. It’s knock out fabulous… when you put the energy into it… which I’ve kinda slacked on w/this babe.

  2. I’m sorry to laugh. That sounds so horrible! We had our first poop play only a couple of months back that involved the coffee table and a paintbrush. Don’t ask me how that happened… needless to say, my partner had a similar response to yours and I just wanted to throttle him.

    I hope you are not too traumatised! xx

  3. OMG this just killed me. I have to admit I haven’t laughed this hard in a while. First, I know all about babies playing with poop. I was one of them. Mom would put me in my crib and apparently I found it great to plaster the poop everywhere around the crib. She apparently didn’t enjoy cleaning the thing with bleach 🙂

    My Achilles heal…. It’s gotta be blood. When my eldest was 2, we were at a friend’s house. The boys were playing with die hard cast cars and my son got a cut at the back of his head from one of the cars. There was a lot of blood as you can imagine. It was on his back and on my friend’s carpet. Rather than clean him up or anything, I started to ask my friend for a rag to clean her carpet. I just didn’t want to see the blood on my blond boy’s hair. I should also mention that when we were at the hospital I almost passed out when they started to glue the wound. Yes, they used glue, and I almost passed out.

    • Oh my, head wounds are the worst bleeders! Pip walked into the counter when he was about 14 mos and gahd, there was blood everywhere.

      If they’d used stitches they would have had to get YOU a gurny. Glad you made it without passing out 🙂

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