First, thank you for the donuts. It was really sweet of you to invite us over on a rainy saturday morning and let our wild kids hang out with your much better behaved children. Our kids loved it!
Second, I’m really sorry my daughter pooped in your dining room.
What can I say? We’re potty training. Shit happens. Literally. I’m really sorry it happened in your house. Twice apparently. If I’m to understand the situation correctly, after we left, you found two separate balls of poop–one in the playroom and another in your dining room? Damn, that’s embarrassing.
But I can’t say that I’m surprised. As I said, we’re potty training. Twins. At the same time. The last few weeks have been a blur of urine and feces, most of which has been found in places it’s not supposed to go. I’m happy to report that they’re getting the hang of it, but there are still accidents. I know a lot of parents simply refuse to leave the house with their kids during this tough developmental period. I can understand the inclination to hunker down until the potty training storm blows over and the children have better control over their bowels, but I will not live in fear. No sir, we’ve kept to our regular schedule, running errands, visiting friends, going to gymnastics…it’s like playing Russian Roulette. You pull the trigger enough times, the gun will eventually go off.
(Which reminds me, I should probably take this opportunity to apologize to the fine folks of REI. I’m really sorry my kid peed in your tent display. And your elevator. My bad.)
Unfortunately, dear friends, the gun went off in your well-appointed dining room. This is embarrassing enough, but I was absolutely mortified when I learned that you mistook the small turd for a toy ball and picked it up with your bare hands. Man, that sucks.
If I may point out a silver lining–at least you had hardwoods. It could’ve been a lot worse.
So, to recap–thanks again for having us over. The donuts were delicious. Sorry about the poop.
Parenthood is magical, there’s no doubt about that. Sometimes, though, it’s more black magic than “kiss the frog” magic. Luckily, 87 percent of the time, being a dad is awesome. Here are a few things that inform that other 13 percent.
- Scraping poop out of big boy underwear…three times a day.
- The nasty looks that other parents at Mighty Might Gymnastics give you when your kid coughs on their kid. In my defense: I don’t care if my kid is patient zero with a wicked strain of chipmunk flu. We’re getting out of the house today!
- Fishing random objects out of the toilet with chopsticks. (Sidenote: chopsticks make excellent retrievers of floating cars, candy wrappers, credit cards…all the little things that end up in the toilet.)
- Suspecting your kid loves iPhone “Paint Sparkles” more than you.
- The constant fear that your two-year-old daughter is going to ask the waiter if he has a penis.
One of the great mysteries of parenthood? Why toddlers who are potty training become overly possessive about their poop. Seriously. You’d think we were flushing their puppy down the toilet. We had a nice little screaming session this morning because our boy didn’t want his mom to take the poop out of his big boy underwear. And he definitely didn’t want her to flush it down the toilet. He melted into a naked mess on the bathroom floor and then came back several times to visit his poop in the toilet after he’d calmed down.
He’s not alone. I know other toddlers with the same sense of attachment. One dad tried to get to the bottom of the mystery by reasoning with his child, asking him a series of very logical questions. The result of the Socratic discussion was this: his boy likes the color brown.
I’m sure there is plenty of child development research that would tell me exactly why kids turn their poop into a friend. Maybe I’ll look them up later. In the meantime, I’m choosing to focus on the positive indicators of this new development. If nothing else, it shows my kid is loyal, even to feces. You gotta respect that. Never leave a man behind. Even if that man is poop.