This post contains more urine and feces than a Metrolink elevator.
First, the urine.
I'm trying to be healthy. I've been taking vitamins and processing that into the most vibrant of hues. I love it. Mornings are never boring.
And now, I promised Gertrude I would not repeat this story. Which means I absolutely have to.
I was watching TV and Gert peeked her head around the corner. "Mom? I've got a monster poo knocking at the door, so I'm going to the bathroom!"
I looked at her. I have no idea why I needed this information, but I said, "Okaaay…?"
Several minutes later, Gert pranced by on her way to her room. "False alarm!" she announced.
I began to wonder if I'd somehow signed up to receive informative, periodic updates on Gert's bathroom behavior. If so, how could I unsubscribe?
Then Gert came up to me with a concerned look on her face. "Uh, mom? I think I need a little help."
"Why? What's wrong?"
She shifted her weight awkwardly. "I thought I just had a fart, but it came out a little extra."
I leapt up and led the way to the bathroom, calmly explaining that it's nothing to worry about, everyone has a little accidental skid mark from time to time. No big deal. I helped her off with her undies, we'd just give them a quick soak and –
Plop.
That was no skid mark.
5 comments:
As a mother, I'm wondering when dealing with poo stops. Both of mine are young, one in diapers 24/7 and the other needing a wipe every now and then. Now I can see it stretching forever into the horizon. Somebody forgot to mention this to me when I got my "mom card". They also forgot to explain that in Parent Math 1+1 doesn't equal 2 it equals 5.
Funny though--I don't mind the poo much. Even when I have to scrape it off of walls...
A friend of mine used to say, in a little kid's voice, "Um? Are farts supposed to be lumpy?" After ripping a "juicy" sounding one.
I roll(ed) with a sophisticated crowd.
I love the "monster poo knockin' at the door," that is most excellent description.
your real father would not take this opportunity to reveal humorous anecdotes concerning a certain blogger. I may be many things, but I am not tasteless.
except the time we were on a sandbar in the river and a certain little girl had to go and I convinced her that Indians had to do it that way and it would be ok to go Indian Princess potty.*sigh*
A conversation about skid marks wound up leading to the first "talk" with my 9 year old. No, we never stop talking poo ... my 11 year old is often asked about it if she complains of a tummy ache. *grin*
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