There are some moments when you KNOW you are a parent. I’m not talking about the fun ones; the birth (well, fun/traumatic), first steps or words, the first time your child calls you “Mama.” I’m talking about those horrific moments that could be used to scare people into using seven methods of birth control every time they take a romp in the hay. Tonight I had one of those moments. It involves potty training. Yep, it’s a poop story.
We are trying to teach Hazel to use the potty, and she has made a lot of progress with pee-peeing, but seems to be afraid of pooping in there. She talks about it, and lately she’s been trying to poop, but so far nothing doing. Tonight I had her on before running her bath. She pee-peed and tried to poop, after telling us she had to do both, but again nothing happened with #2. I took her off, wiped, and let her stand beside me sitting on the side of the tub while running her bath. Bubbles were added, toys were brought down, and Hazel slipped into the bubbles like normal. Amos appeared right after that, as I was standing up. His face formed a perfect mask of surprise, and his finger quivered with the alertness of a trained hunting dog. My eyes fell from face, to finger, to floor, only to see two very small poops on the floor. My heel was in one, and the other was closer to the faucet side of the tub where Hazel had been waiting. Yep, in trying to poop on the potty, Hazel had failed to recognize that she actually did need to go, and in the maybe two minutes between me wiping her and putting her in the tub, this happened. I don’t even think she was aware of it; they were very, very small. But still gross.
I think you truly know you’re a parent when you cast your gaze down to the floor and see your foot in poop, while your husband laughs hysterically and your two-year-old repeatedly says, “Mommy step in Hazel’s poop?”