“Mommy! I need to go poop!”
“Okay! Hey B… could you take him to the bathroom? It’s over by the Optical area. That way I can let Jo shop in the Bullseye area.”
{mommy happily peruses “bargain” items and explains why a watch band for an Apple Watch is not a worthwhile investment if one does not have the Apple Watch piece of the pie.}
Minutes later from across the front of the store:
“Mommmmmy!!! I pooped in my pants!”
Deeeeeep breath.
“… and I caught it in my hands!”
Deeeeeeeeper breath.
“… it’s right here!”
“WHAAAAAAAT? You brought it with you? It’s in your hands?!”
“He wouldn’t let it go. Sorry mom.”
Mortified. Yes. That was me. The mortified mother in Target today as my four year old walked from the bathroom with my 9-year-old behind him as he held a handful of his poop.
…
I immediately went to grab my bag. For the Wet Ones. Only to realize I’d somehow switched carts at some point. I could feel the feels — it was either tears or sweat — as I walked the dollar section and the swimsuit area. Bag retrieved. Wet Ones ascertained.
I sucked in any emotions and trotted my kid back to the bathrooms. I slowly investigated his underoos only to find that (dun dun DUN) there was no poop in the pants. No skid. Nada.
I placed him on the toilet. Wet One’d down his hands, arms, and everything in-between. Made him sit until he got the rest out. Even when he wanted to get up because he was sure “it will just stay put there for a bit.”
“Hey babe… can you help me understand why you said you pooped your pants it yet, there’s no sign of poop having been in your pants…”
“Ya dat’s cuz I was running to the bathwomb and I could feel it coming out of my butt and so I put my hand in so my undies not get woo-end.”
Well. That’s a new one.
…
This is on the heels of 3 other recent poopcidents from various children in my household. This is on the tail of one of the boys needing to use the bathroom where there was none and me, squatting behind him, holding a wal-mart sack, as he dropped a deuce in it and I handed him flushable wipes and threw them in the bag, wrapped it up, and went back to practice. THANK THE GOOD LAWD ABOVE FOR FLUSHABLE WIPES.
…
WE ARE OUT OF THE DIAPER PHASE AND YET I HAVE BEEN ELBOW-DEEP IN POOP more times than I can count lately.
Oooooooeyboy.
I was a nurse’s aide, for goodness sakes, I should be able to perform Poop Police Duties and Peri-care, like a boss. AND I had three kids go from infant to out of diapers in my care. Oh oh!!! And I, myself had someone else’s poop transplanted into my body! This shit should be no big deal, right?!? I should be used to handling random shit. But nope. I am not getting any better at the “accidents” (or possibly Poop Punks?!). Instead I’m thinking of investing in a breathable Hazmat suit, some surgical gloves, doggy poo bags, a pallet of flushable wipes, and a big ol’ travel-ready sponge bath system.
…
So to the woman at Target whose shoes I could see below my son’s stall, I’m sorry for the play-by-play coaching lesson you had to endure. But there was no way I was letting him back out into the store only to have him drop a few more tokens in the fountain. And to everyone who might have seen my child carrying his poop down the front section of my Target, well, I’m glad we could offer some comic relief for you and yours.
…
And just in case you’re thinking, “there sure have been a lot of poo stories lately…” I can assure you, we mamas can’t make this shit up. If only…
