Thursday, August 06, 2009

Poop. Poop. Poop.

Have you ever potty trained a boy who refused to poop? The other day Little Monster told me that he had a lid on his butt and that was why the poop wouldn't come out. After a few hours of whining, crying and yelling, James finally listened to me and took the "lid" off and threw it away so he could sit on his frog potty and get his poop out. I have to give it to the kid. He's smart. He knows that if he goes a little bit, he'll get his M&M for using the potty. Then he'll wait a few more minutes and go a little more to get another M&M. But the poop, the poop is killing me.

This being a mother of a potty-training pre-schooler and an infant, it is hard. Probably, no definitely the hardest job I've ever had. My days of making Blizzards and shooting whipped cream at my friends, or playing with my preschool class, or working on ID Card templates, heck even listening to people yell at me because they were too stupid to know the difference between the power button on their monitor and their computer were easier. What did I do with all of those free Saturday afternoons when I wasn't cleaning poop off of walls, toilets, trash cans, floors, and carpets? I don't know, but I'm sure it was time wasted. Well, maybe not. My apartment was usually generally clean. By "generally clean" I mean it didn't look like a toy tornado came tearing through the place dropping stuff off as it went.

Life was definitely easier when I wasn't trying to potty train a child. That in and of itself is hard enough, without trying to keep an infant happy. Butterball is a generally happy baby, but it seems that the second Little Monster does something that requires my full attention, she has a fit and won't stop until I'm holding her. And nursing her. Have you ever tried to nurse an infant while cleaning poop off of every surface of your home? It isn't fun.

But then there are days like yesterday. When there was no whining, no accidents. Days when my child behaved as though he were an angel who knew how to use a potty (even if it is shaped like a frog, sitting in my living room and requires being cleaned after each use). Days when my little girl is all smiles and coos and giggles. And suddenly cleaning up all of that poop isn't such a bad deal. After all, even if the job requires biohazard removal, at least I get to come to work in my pajamas.

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