The obligatory “My child is SO going to hate me for this later” post

Have ya noticed how the blogworld has been inundated with poop stories lately? Over the past few months, I’ve read about poop-eating dogs. "Mommy’s only time to herself" poop. "Husbands who hog the bathroom to poop." "Cherries gone wild" poop. "Our wise yet clueless" poop-talking parents…

Believe it or not, I was mighty content, you might even say RELIEVED to not have anything of real SUBSTANCE to add to this loveliest of lovely subjects. But before that thought made its way into complete fruition, LO, my youngest gave me a poo tale (that has absolutely nothing to do with a tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff) worth sharing. And share I must because I’m desperate for an explanation. Or just empathy. Yes, empathy is a FINE reaction. So, without further A DOO, might I be so humble as to add my crappy tale of despair to the internet. (I apologize in advance if my fingers rebel and decide to quit typing midway.)

Kyra, has WATER-INDUCED poop issues. Now, I know what you’re thinking… someone is probably drinking a wee bit too much water. Cut back on the liquids and VOILA! Zee poop will queet being soooo… how do you say… producteeve?

I. WISH. No, this isn’t water-INGESTION-induced poop. OOOOHH, how I wish it were such a fixable dilemma. This is kinda different. See, I can’t trust this sixteen-month-old precious to sit at the table and eat her breakfast then go get dressed and change her diaper while I wash up. No, she insists on spilling things or running around naked or WAILING at the bathroom door as though I’ve left her for good this time. I decided that mornings could be a whole lot easier on everyone if she joined me in the shower. What I didn’t account for was the REACTION that shower water would have on her digestive system. Upon placing her small, defenseless body into the tub, she immediately starts to squat. GET THIS: the record is four dumps over the course of one thirty-minute shower. Thirty because she wouldn’t let me SHOWER! Now, when compared to other children her age, Kyra falls into the lower percentiles in regard to body weight and height. In other words, she’s itty bitty. So tell me, how something that teeny-tiny can produce so much waste?! If the girl were an automobile, she’d be a VW beetle on the outside with one of those four-wheel-drive king-cab duelly engines on the INSIDE— high input, high output, HIGH toxic emissions. She is NOT fuel efficient.

As you can imagine, after the third time of this happening (yes, I let it go THREE TIMES), I said ENOUGH. And then I had the bright idea of WAITING for her to do her business BEFORE sticking her in the shower with me. “AS IF!” her bowels cackled menacingly. Sure, she pooped beforehand, but she WASN’T done. And might I add here, she’s NEVER quite done.

So the decision had to be made once and for all to NOT shower with Kyra anymore. But, alas, a bath was no better! Suddenly, I’d stick her into a tub of water and, five minutes later, the pooping would commence. This was really a pain in EMMA’S behind. Emma, who is one year older and, therefore, obligated to share bathtub space with Kyra. She was starting to become paranoid, constantly muttering, “Mom, I see poop. Kyra poop. Poopy, Mommy. Look! Look! OH NO!! IT’S POOOOOP!!!!!” Most times, she was just pointing at a bar of soap. But that’s what a couple of doodies floating in the water will do to a person. ESPECIALLY when you can’t even claim them as your own. I was starting to think that I couldn’t let her bathe with her sister anymore.

And then. AND THEN, I left Allan alone with them this past weekend. Sure as shit, he bathed Kyra… WITH EMMA… in a FULL TUB of water… LONG ENOUGH for the pooping to arise, so to speak … and, of course, as you might already have concluded… the girl made a liar out of me. No pooping in the tub occurred. No squatting. No paranoid Emma. Just bathing and tra la la singing. Happy, shiny people splashing and frolicking in the freshly-scented, poopless water.

So what gives??? Allow me to rush over and read your thoughts for you — Obviously, poop does… when YOU are the bather, Catherine. DUH! Actually, ya’ll are so nice. And you have never been known to talk to me like that… despite the fact that true talking never really occurs here. But, quite possibly, in this short span of time (or long, due to the subject matter), it’s already crossed your mind that I should just permanently assign the “bathing small children” task to Allan since he has such good bath-giving juju. I must admit, it is a FABULOUS idea, brimming with hope and cleaner waters. Unfortunately, the dude is gone too much to make it his official job. Crappy, ain’t it... So, it’s back to the thinking chair. My problems might be SOLVED if I could just convince Kyra to sit there.