As a Registered Nurse, I have seen my fair share of poo. In fact, I thought I’d seen it all. I’ve dealt with caked on poo, bloody poo, watery poo, elephant turds, pellets and black poo. I’ve ended up wearing it, I’ve walked in it, I’ve had it wiped on me, I’ve had it thrown at me and one night, almost mistook a smear of it for chocolate. You name it, I’ve seen it. And truthfully it only gets worse the older you get.
We are taught that what goes in must come out and what it looks like upon exit can indicate a problem. Good bowel health is important and as mothers we become obsessed by it. What’s normal? What’s not? Breast Milk poo, Formula poo, Solids poo, Sultanas DON’T digest. Neither does corn. The slider, the poo-plosion, we’ve all been there. Been caught attempting to clean up a squirming infant while trying not to make the mess worse, no change of clothes and baby covered from head to toe.
I’ve been there, done that, I’m still going through it. I feel your pain. In fact, its not uncommon to see me running down the hallway of our house to the bathroom with a poo covered Mr Giggles, arms outstretched in front of me, baby with a bewildered look on his face. The only way to fix the problem is hose him down. Unfortunately.
We are currently toilet training Hurricane Boy and for the majority of it, he is going well. He’s been going all day (mainly at pre-school) with only the occasional accident, and they usually occur because he’s caught up in some activity.
But I digress, let me set the scene…
Nursey Mum in Mr Giggles’ room, getting him dressed after his bath. Hurricane boy is still in the bath, Handy Hubby showering next to him.
I’m goo-ing and gah-ing at Mr Giggles, and in the background I hear Hurricane Boy say “Daddy, present”. Handy Hubby, face full of soap replies “Yeah bubba” and puts his hand out.
I then hear screams. From both of them. Both are calling my name. Mr Giggles goes into his cot, half dressed and I head into the bathroom. I find Hurricane Boy screaming, crying, having a melt down pointing to the bath water. Handy Hubby still in the shower, screaming, dry-retching and holding a Hurricane Boy sized turd.
I yank Hurricane Boy out of the bath, throw him on the potty, rescue the turd from Handy Hubby’s hand and fish out the aqua turd that Hurricane Boy left behind. All the while trying not to wet myself laughing.
Needless to say, Handy Hubby didn’t see the funny side. On the plus side, we had our one and only successful poo on the potty.
Have you had any toilet training drama?
Funny stories of poo?