The poop grenade

I want to talk about poop for a moment.

Yes, you read right. Poop. Because I've decided poop is worse than a grenade. Specifically, a grenade of horror that can come out of your sweet, potty training toddler at any moment. And, not only can it go off IN YOUR HAND, you never really know when it is coming. You just know it IS coming, so you better prepare yourself and hope you are fast enough to make it to a bathroom before... KABOOM!

Last week I wrote about our first (mis)adventures with potty training. It started out pretty rough but with some tips from commenters (HOLLA K. Elizabeth!) we nixed the pull-ups (too absorbent for Kate to notice when she was going potty) to panties (Yeah... feel that running down your leg little one? That is pee pee and it is GROSS) and she quickly began to realize the feeling of needing to go potty. We were going gang busters and I was patting myself on the back for potty training in, like, THREE DAYS (am I a bad ass or what?) when the poop grenade went off and blew me straight off my high horse. 

We spent most of the first week of training at the house. That allowed for quick access to a toilet and quick access to our sticker chart (REWARDS! FOR NOT PEEING ON YOURSELF! YAY!) but by the end of the week, I was going stir crazy so we headed to Target for a quick shopping excursion. 

We took care of "business" and I figured we had about an hour to get through the store before we'd have to worry about any potty-related activities. We cruised through the dollar section, checked out a few books and were making our way through clothing to hit groceries when disaster struck. And by disaster, I mean poop.

Kate randomly ran to hide behind a three-way mirror on our way through clothing and as I rounded the corner to get her I saw her face scrunched up in her "Leave me alone I'm working on something here!!" face. "ARE YOU POOPING??" I stupidly asked her. She shook her head no and grunted as she pushed something fierce and I saw my life flash before my eyes. Kaboom.

I grabbed her up and ran off down the aisle, dodging carts and innocent shoppers, all while chanting, "Hold on, we are almost to the bathroom, hold on and you can go like a big girl, hold on FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY!"

Yeah. There was nothing holy about what waited for me in her panties when we got to the bathroom. We bundled into a small little stall and I squatted down as much as a seven month pregnant woman can and checked out the damage. My hopes of a few little nuggets I could toss into the toilet were erased by the man-sized poop grenade that my daughter had innocently set off in my face. I set to work trying to minimize the damage, while my daughter tried to do everything in her power to make me cry. 

I asked her why she didn't tell me she had to go. She just repeated, "I'm so sorry mommy" over and over while I bit my tongue to keep from telling her she had a shitty (haha) way of showing me she was sorry. I told her it was okay as I tried to scrape poop off her backside with the THINNEST TOILET TISSUE ON THE PLANET (thanks for that Target). But, while I was busy reminding her not to touch anything, she was busy reaching around to see what I was doing and she got poop on her hand. 

"So, so yucky" she said as she WIPED HER HAND ON HER SHIRT before I could even react. I may or may not have said some curse words in front of my sweet innocent at that moment, but the REAL low-point for me was when, after repeating 200 times "Mommy said DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING" as she grabbed for the toilet seat, her panties, my face, and the tissue dispenser, I saw her start to put her fingers in her mouth (a comfort issue because mommy was being so nutzo I'm sure). In a panic, I popped her little naked hiney and shrieked "I SAID DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING AND DO NOT PUT YOUR FINGERS IN YOUR MOUTH." I mean, I'm sorry, but poop fingers in the mouth can't be good for ANYONE and I just reacted.

Since I never have touched the child in any kind of frustration before, this little tap on the bottom sent her  STRAIGHT over the edge. That and mommy's yelling and crazy eyes. She stood perfectly still for a good five minutes wailing while I got her panties washed out in the sink, got our hands (and legs, shirt, etc.) as clean as possible and basically patted myself on the back for so traumatizing my daughter she would NEVER go poop in public ever, ever again. Like, running home from work when you are 30 so you can take a dooce type trauma. Yay for me, Mommy of the Year!

We got home and mommy apologized for being a whack job and we snuggled and all was forgiven. Although I was still positive that she would never, ever poop in public again.

So imagine my complete surprise, joy and overall HELL TO THE YEAH when Kate ran off the playground yesterday to do the toddler "I gotta go" dance for me. I picked her up and ran (waddled quickly) to the nearest bathroom where I swear a chorus of angels SANG for her as she pooped in the big girl potty. I gave her a hug and a high five and nearly cried tears of joy because despite my parenting failures Kate is a sweet, smart and well-adjusted kiddo. Who can drop a poop grenade in the potty. 

And I must say, that is pretty freaking awesome.