Wednesday, December 1, 2010

A Poop-y Day

My day started out with a Terror of an Almost Two.

He didn't want to be held. Didn't want to walk on his own. Didn't want to play or sleep or sit. He wasn't hungry. Or thirsty.

He just wanted to whine and throw temper tantrums.

The kind where he throws himself on the floor and when I try to pick him up, he goes completely limp. And we all know it's impossible to pick up wet spaghetti.

When I finally do get him up, he goes from limp to stiff as a board, straightening out, arched back, pointed feet and all, to make it impossible for me to hold him close and contain him.

When this happens in our house, fine. I try to ignore temper tantrums. Not so easy to ignore when this happens as we are walking through a parking lot and I need to get him out of the street because there is a car waiting to park and Bjorn has collapsed on the ground, screaming and limp limbed.

Oh what a fun day.

After a desperate text to my fellow Terror of an Almost Two Mom (OMG this kid is driving me bonkers) I took a 10 minute breather. I kept an eye on Bjorn, to watch for safety and health hazards he could create, but I made myself deaf and immune to whining and prodding. 

After my much needed Mommy break it was now 4:30 and while we usually don't eat until 6:30 or later, I needed a break this evening too, so if we ate now. . . . well, I could probably convince Bjorn about 7 that it was bed time. Conniving Mommy, yes. Smart Mommy desperately in need of some quiet, very.

I made his favorite dinner. Spaghetti, meatballs, carrots, peas and lots and lots of sauce. Usually I scrimp on the sauce because I don't like the humongous mess to clean up. Today, that mess would lead to a nice, long, warm bath. All part of the plan, my pretty.

Dinner was as expected. Mess, messy and messier. Then bath time, where I sat on the toilet, flipping through an old Life & Style while Bjorn splashed and blew bubbles.

I heard the bubbles and looked over to see him pushing. Yeah, those bubbles I heard were coming from his butt.

Well, I thought, at least it's just farts and he didn't poop in the water.

Or so I thought.

That ain't no Baby Ruth in the water, people.
You might think after my day with The Terror (the baby formerly known as Bjorn) I would have been frustrated and annoyed at having to pick up a huge piece of poop from the tub (how the hell do I get this our of the tub?), drain the water, clean all his bath toys (including his toothbrush, yech) and start the whole bath thing all over again.

But this big ol' piece of poop made my day. I have never laughed so hard in my entire laugh and as I write this I keep breaking down in giggles. I'm like a seven year old boy telling poop jokes.

See, this bath time poop reminded me that while he may whine and throw tantrums and be genuinely a Terror, he is only a baby. A baby who poops the worlds biggest poop in his bath tub and just laughs and continues splashing. It is my job to teach him how to handle situations in life and I have decided that from hereafter, we handle situations with humor and laughter.

Lesson of the day, Dear Bjorn. When life hands you poop, turn it into a blog post for friends. (Or spaceship fuel. Whatever works for you.)


Lise said...

Ah... the tantrums, the messy meals, the Terror of the Almost Two, and yes, even the tub poop. I'm right there with ya, sister! Especially with the laughing through it all. Because, really, what else can you do?

Thank God our first Tub Poop happened on a night Daddy was home. I cleaned up the boy while Dad had to deal with the tub. Phew!

And our tantrums don't have the limp noodle/stiff as a board joy that yours do. Ours are the wildly flailing about and thrashing like a wild beast. This results in daily bumps/bruises on the head and too many fat lips to count. All my injuries, by the way. My son seems immune to actually hurting HIMSELF during these antics. Awesome.

Anonymous said...

Your grandma used to tell me the story about bath time about me (your dad).
I think I was 3 or so, and I did not want to take a bath. So when she undressed me… I took off and ran out the door in nothing but my birthday suit and simply “ran like the wind” , strutting my stuff to the neighborhood.

So, you see, in the same respect that Al Gore takes credit for inventing the internet, I take credit for inventing streaking.

John, Becky and Olivia said...

Oh, yes, we've experienced the tub poop on more than one occasion. Of course it is when I am home alone as well and have to take care of it. Thank you Comet for making me feel better about putting my child back in the tub later on.

John, Becky and Olivia said...

And at least yours was a solid log. I hope you don't get a mushy falling apart one. That's lots of fun to clean up. =)

KLZ said...

I do find it funny that babies are immune to tub poop. They do not even seem to notice it which just amuses me to no end.

Baby Mama said...

I just laughed really hard at poop in the bath. Glad you did too! :)

Mommy This and That said...

Yep, only a real mom would take a picture of their kids poop and post in on a blog for the world to see!

Erin said...

you are AWESOME!!!

My mom sent me the link to your blog and said you were worth the read!!

She was RIGHT!!

I love tub poop.

Erin said...

ps - If Anonymous is your mom...I see where you get your humor - I love her too!!!

We're going STREAKING!!!!