The Midnight Crapper

 

So there are a lot of things people warned me about when I was about to become a mom. Some of those things were:

  • How hard breastfeeding is.
  • How you will learn to function on 2 hours of sleep.
  • How you will always worry.
  • To be prepare for your infant to poop/pee/barf on you.
  • How you will never, ever sleep again. Ever.

We’ve made it through my child’s infancy and the first year of toddlerhood. Now that we are well into toddlerhood and Nellie is about to hit her preschooler phase, we’ve been faced with the hardest challenge yet, and that’s potty training. There are some things people (kind of ) warned me about potty training:

  • It will be frustrating.
  • It will be hard.
  • It will make you want to pull your hair out.
  • Your child won’t do it until they are ready.

But do you know what no one told me? Not a single fucking person?

That my child would shit on the floor. Repeatedly. 

For the past week or so my daughter has waited until bedtime, liberated herself of her Pull-Up, and shit on the floor of her bedroom. The first time, she just cried for us. We opened the door to her standing and pointing, yelling, “LOOK, MAMA. LOOK WHAT HAPPEN”.  It was all over her hands, smeared into the carpet, and on the walls. We frantically worked as a team to get everything cleaned up; me taking the shit-covered child and Josh dealing with the clean-up of her bedroom. While standing in the bathroom as I ran the bathtub, she got excited that she got to take a bath and began clapping her hands together while I frantically tried to get her to stop without barfing.

Look what happen in-fucking-deed.

After about a week of that, she began to (kind of) put 2+2 together and realized that her poop goes in the toilet. So instead of squalling for us and pointing at her feces, she decided she would – literally – take matters into her own hands. And by matters, I mean HER SHIT.  She’d scoop it up in her little hands, quietly open the door to her bedroom and sneak out into the hallway to bestow her gift unto the porcelain gods. Then she would come back into the living room and announce, “I put my poop in the potty! …..It on my hands…”

Sunday night’s debacle was particularly trying. It had gone on for over a week, and I’ve walked a thin line between wanting to clearly convey to her that what she’s doing isn’t acceptable without shaming her. I have kept a very neutral tone and face, and have said things like:

  • I’m disappointed that you took your Pull-Up off instead of coming to us and telling us you pooped.
  • I wish you had sat on the potty and pooped.
  • Please do NOT take your Pull-Up off again. Come tell us if you poop.

While inside my head, it’s really more like:

  • MOTHER. FUCKER. AGAIN? REALLY?!
  • IF YOU KEEP CRAPPING ON YOUR FLOOR, YOUR ROOM IS GOING TO SMELL LIKE A ZOO.
  • STOP TOUCHING THINGS. I’M GOING TO VOMIT HERE IT COMES – NOPE, SWALLOWED IT.
  • OH GOD IT’S UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS DON’T. TOUCH. ME.
  • I’M GOING TO STAPLE THAT PULL-UP TO YOUR ASS.

Her little incidents have only happened at bedtime, so I’ve dubbed her the Midnight Crapper. Josh calls her the Shit Giver. We’re both hoping that this is just a phase and that SOON, she will learn that yes, her poop goes in the potty. Just not the way she has done it.

Poop In the Potty: UR DOING IT WRONG.

Parents: What the eff am I supposed to do to remedy this? Wait it out? Should I be more firm? WHY DOES MY CHILD NOT CARE THAT SHE HAS CRAP ON HER EVERYTHING?