AUGUST 15, 2006
Found the perfect deterrent to that late night snack. Looking to resist some extra calories? Try poo under your fingernails. It should do the trick! Yeah, was watching the children of some friends again last week. I’m rocking the little girl, 2-and-a-half-years-old, to sleep after a bedtime story and thinking that all is right with the world when she exclaims, “I have to go potty!” Well, glory be, this is a welcome development! Potty training has stalled as of late, so to hear such initiative on her part is a great thing. A little off in timing perhaps, but nevertheless …
We troop out to the nearby bathroom where I look to her to kinda lead me through the steps she’s been taught and we’re doin’ great! That is, until, down come the jamma bottoms, to reveal the almighty poo-poo, untamed poo-poo overflowing, nearing gush mode, out and down the little legs of my little friend.
“Stay right there! Don’t touch a thing, okay? I’ll be right back with wipes!” Who tells a 2-and-a-half-year-old that and actually expects positive results, you may ask? A desperate woman, that’s who.
UP TO THE TILE COUNTER I WHISK HER.
Running downstairs grabbing the container of wipes, running back, all with delusional hopes of little fingers staying out of the brown mush emerging from her drawers. It acts as a magnet to most little fingers. Had visions of smeared brown walls, tufts of rug covered in random pieces of drudgery. The possibility of dookie poked in ears, wiped in hair, squished in between tiny little toes. I re-entered the bathroom to find the little lady laughing and pointing gleefully at the poo. “Tinky!” she says. “Yes!” I agree, with krinkled nose and nodding head. Up to the tile counter I whisk her. Strip off all remaining clothing, promptly gagging at the sight of what looks like a brown chocolate cake glued to her little bum. Visually, can totally deal with this. Having huge difficulties with the aroma, however. From the waist down, I remained standing in front of her while I flung my upper half out the bathroom door into the hallway gasping for fresh air.
She didn’t miss a beat! “What doing?” she asks. I tell this child the truth. “Honey, the poo-poo is stinky like you said, and I was trying to breath in some fresh air.” “Oh,” she replies, and promptly laughs. Ha! She totally laughed at me in all her 2-and-a-half-year-old wisdom. “This lady’s an amateur,” she had to be thinking, “Wait till she gets a LOAD of what I dosed Daddy with last week!”
Love that munchkin. We wiped and cleansed and freshly dressed our way back to a lovely time in the rocking chair. Me nodding off while she snuggled in, wide awake and “reading” to me this time around. No poo-poo displaced to walls or carpet or little ears or little toes.
Yeah, just to under my fingernails.