I don’t know about you- but my idea of a good poop is being able to sit back, relax, take my time and let it just… come out on its own. Pooping is no fun if you have to rush, grunt and try to squeeze it out under pressure- you’ll end up giving yourself some wicked hemorrhoids that way. I don’t know that I have any (i’m one of those people who just doesn’t want to know, and refuses to check), but I can’t imagine that a punching bag filled with blood hanging from your anus doesn’t sound like a whole lot of fun to me.
Once your baby becomes mobile- you can kiss pooping alone goodbye. When they’re still little lumps of baby, you can strap them to a bouncy chair and run to the toilet while they whine. You might rush a little- but not nearly as much as when they can chase after you.
You might not understand it if you haven’t lived through it… but trust me, once it’s gone- you might just shed a tear.
Pooping now, is like pooping in a war zone. If I try to lock Holden out of the bathroom- he either screams until I open the door.. or suddenly i’m getting scratched on the foot by razor sharp baby nails from him reaching under the door and trying to grab me.
Letting him in is even more fun. The downstairs bathroom (where we spend most of our days.. not in the bathroom, but downstairs duh) is tiny.. we’re talking a toilet and a pedestal sink, and you can wash your hands in that sink while you’re dropping the kids off at the pool, small. So with me trying to relieve myself, Holden comes wandering in and tearing dirty stuff out of the toilet- trying to play with my va-jay.. pulling at my pants.. trying to hang like a spider-monkey from the sink, or falling and hitting his head on the wall because there’s just no room to move.
Knowing all of that makes me have to rush to finish pooping so he doesn’t end up eating crusty-booger tissues from the trashcan or giving himself yet another bruise on his (according to my dad) huge bulbous head. And why is it that babies don’t care how bad your poop smells? He has never once retreated from a stinky bathroom. I know we can all deal with our OWN horrid poo-smell (well, y’know, unless you’re REALLY sick and then you can’t even stomach your own and you have your nose turned towards the cieling trying to find the ‘fresh air’ but can’t).. but when it comes to OTHER peoples ass-demons? No way. Not my kid, he’s totally fine with getting a huge whiff of mommy-poop.
You might ask, “Why not poop in another bathroom? Don’t you have one?”
Yes, yes I do.. but the other bathroom is upstairs. Leaving Holden downstairs alone is never a good idea. I’ve tried it.. he got stuck in between our two couches and started tearing things off of the side table, and screaming when he realized he couldn’t get himself out. When you hear loud heavy things falling to the floor- and you’re upstairs trying to take a huge dump in peace… you end up grunting and pushing like you’re giving birth all over again. That is NEVER a satisfying feeling.
There has been many a time where I just gave up halfway through a poop to go and deal with Holden… that has to be the absolute worst.
Sure, I can poop in peace once Thomas gets home and can wrangle Holden away from the bathroom door.. but it’s just not the same. By then I have an entire day of unsatisfying poop under my belt (no, i’m not one of you weirdos who only poops every couple of days!), and nothing can make that feeling go away- not even the biggest poop in the world.
If you like to be constantly criticized over your peanut butter to jelly ratio on sandwiches, being a parent is definitely for you.
It's called "Mom Tax" and it applies to ALL SWEETS OBTAINED BY CHILDREN pic.twitter.com/VExGwIOdBn
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