October 10, 2005
Every mom has a poop story. Well most moms that I know anyway. I sure have one.
Ryan was about 22 months old. He was a pretty easy kid to train and all that mommy or daddy had to do was wipe his little ass when he pooped. No biggie.
Well on this particular day, I was on the phone, doing a survey that Statistics Canada had been doing with me over the course of a few months. We were finishing up the last leg of the survey. Ryan was happily driving around in his little Cozy Coupe Car….you know the one, the bright orange Little Tykes car with the yellow roof, the ones you see in every yard in the burbs. Anyhow, back then, back in ’98, I didn’t have a cordless phone (or a computer for that matter) so I was stuck to the kitchen while doing my survey. So what right?
My back was to Ryan and he was puttering around the kitchen. A few mins later, he says he has to pee. Okay, go pee I whisper while trying to answer questions on the phone. I can hear him in there, everything seems fine. I turn back towards the counter and continue happily answering questions. I hear Ryan get back in his car, driving all around…..the kitchen, hallway and livingroom are his toddler highway. About 10 mins later I finish up on the phone and turn around to see what Ryan is doing. This is where the HORROR begins.
I remember it in slow motion at this point. I see him standing beside his car…..what’s the horror in that you ask? Well now, where there was only white tile 10 mins previous, is now tire tracks. BROWN TIRE TRACKS. My mind is spinning, conjuring up ideas, stupid ones but ideas nonetheless. It’s pudding. Ryan snuck into the fridge and got out a chocolate pudding and then spilled it on the white floor and drove through it. Wait, we dont have any chocolate pudding. It’s melted chocolate chips. Ryan got a pot out, turned on the stove, put chocolate chips in the pot and melted them and then put them on the white tile and then drove through them. Riiiiiiiiight. That’s plausible. Okay, at this point I’m out of idiotic ideas and realize, with mounting fear, that it’s, well, SHIT.
I take a good look at Ryan at this moment and realize he’s bare assed and his legs are streaked with brown. I think I just stood there for a moment, wondering who you call in this kind of situation. The police? Fire department? Next door neighbor? Toxic Spills people? Hubby? Wait…..NONE OF THE ABOVE because noone in their right mind would come and help. So I put on my SuperShitterMomToTheRescueSuperHero costume and get ready to get dirty. I scoop Ryan up and take him to the bathroom. OMG. There’s been a shit murder in there! The floor is covered with BROWN STUFF, the toilet, the sink. This is the moment where I had to decide, am I in it for the long haul or do I want to just pack my bags and head to Florida to swim with the dolphins?
Apparently I decided to stay (what was I thinking???????). Okay, so I run a bath for ShitToddler and get him cleaned up. I asked him, what in God’s name happened? Did his butt explode, a kind of shit volcano so to speak? Nope, nothing like that he assured me. He just decided that day to wipe his own butt. The day that his poo wasn’t like little rabbit turds, basically a clean wipe, not much mess, instead, the day it was like mashed shitcakes, kinda soft but with a bit of texture. JUST MY LUCK.
So I clean the little turdmister up, tuck him safely in his room with his blankie and a book and go back to the crime scene. I can’t believe there’s that much shit from one little attempted asswiping. It was everywhere in the bathroom…..the images still give me nightmares at times. I survived the bathroom masacre and head out to the kitchen. The shit tracks are everywhere. So I get out my handy dandy shit mop and get that room sparkling again.
I was feeling pretty good at that point. THEN it hit me….he’d also been driving in the livingroom. THE CARPETTED livingroom. OMG. I’m going to have a shit heart attack, I just know it. I slowly walk towards the room, knowing that I’m going to see shit tracks embedded into the pale gray carpet. That’s gonna look SOOOOO good. I walk in and yes, I had a shit heart attack, just like I predicted, like what? Two, three sentences ago? So I have to get out the big guns….big bucket filled with the hottest shit killing water I can humanly stick my hands into, soap, cleaner…..cleaner that is so toxic that if you suck on the carpet you’ll have stomache cramps for years to come. But it had to be done.
Two hours later, the carpet was wet but clean of the little shit tracks. We couldn’t walk in there for a day or two and my hands were raw from scrubbing but we decided to keep Ryan anyway. He was just soooo damn cute, that we just couldn’t give him to the roaming gypsy’s that were camping out in the woods down the road. He’s now 9 1/2 and still cute as hell. He’s definately a keeper!