Potty humor.

He was playing in the sandbox at school last week, and announced upon my arrival that he was making “poop pie.” Today as we were driving home, I asked him what he had for lunch. His response? “Poopyhead!” I thought I didn’t hear him correctly at first and asked him to repeat himself – sure enough, “Poopyhead!” I said that wasn’t a nice word and I didn’t like it, and he said “It starts with an S so that means it’s not a bad word.”

Yeah, we still have some work to do on letters. And apparently also on logic.

As you may or may not have noticed, Jenny has no problem with disgusting topics (ok I have to stop linking to posts within the category “bodily functions” before I lose my lunch). I, however, prefer not to discuss such matters. I use curse words way more than Jenny does though so I’m in no way claiming vocabularial (I made that word up, but I like it) superiority – I just think it is revolting, and saying words that Jenny will freely title a blog post with makes me physically uncomfortable.

So anyway, what am I going to do with Sam and his new fascination? I want to make it stop!!!!

That’s right, for the next two weeks, I have to look at Joshua’s poop and write down my observations about it’s size, color, consistency, etc.

I love being a mom.  Really, this is the stuff I’ve always dreamed about.

But back to the asking a million questions part.  The doctor asked Joshua many, many questions that ended in the word, “poop”.

Does it hurt when you poop?

When you’re eating, do you feel like you have to poop?

Is there any blood on the toilet paper when you poop?

PoopPoopPoopPoopPoopPoopPoop?

Seriously, after the first question, it was all I could do to not burst out in an ugly, raspberry-esque hysterical laughter.  I had to bite the inside of my mouth and stare down at the top of my son’s head to keep from losing control.

Because there’s something about a learn-ed M.D. saying the word “poop” over and over that brings me to the basest level of immaturity possible.

I couldn’t breathe for a full 30 seconds after he’d said his last “poop” for fear of losing it.  And, since I’ve made a fool of myself in front of this doctor over bowel movements before, I really did not want to lose control.

But I was thisclose.

So, I think my much more solemn and mature husband should attend the follow-up appointment, don’t you?  Because since it is going to involve careful examination of aforementioned poop diary, I don’t think I can be trusted to hold it together.

What makes you giggle like a pre-adolescent boy?

(P.S. – POOP!!!! Made ya laugh!)

What’s happening is, Joshua is at least once a day, feeling “sick” DURING a meal.  So he eats some, feels sick, wants to go lay down or try to puke, never does puke, and usually within 10 minutes or so can finish at least some of the meal.

The foods involved are totally random.  The times of day are totally random.  I don’t think he’s faking it, but we’ve been battling this off and on for two months, and I am the one who’s really sick – SICK OF IT.  I am beyond frustrated.

He never throws up, hasn’t had any weird bowel issues, just says he feels sick and wants to lay down, or just stop eating for awhile. He even went to the clinic one day at school during lunch, and lunch is his 2nd favorite part of the day (after recess of course).

This all started back in July – he did throw up in July two separate times after CHUGGING chocolate milk at restaurants, so I think maybe that psychologically damaged him and now he’s terrified of getting sick so he is worrying about it so much that he is making himself feel bad.

We’ve taken him off dairy and it hasn’t seemed to have made any difference.

Bobby doesn’t get home til 7 pm, so the kids have already eaten dinner by then. I am tired of doing dinner by myself for years anyways, I ALWAYS have to struggle to get Sophie to eat, and now THIS – it’s making me apoplectic. Joshua thinks I am mad at him, which is probably making his whole psychosomatic stomach problem worse. I am not mad at him, but I am BEYOND frustrated and I can’t really hold that in anymore.  I can barely hold ANY frustration in by dinner time, which again, I might add, I do by myself five nights a week, outnumbered three to one.

So, how about it, readers? Diagnose my kid for me. That way you can save me a $30 copay at the pediatrician’s office.  And though you probably can’t save my kid from intense counseling and therapy because his mom is so mean, the extra $30 could at least go toward those future therapy bills.  You have until 4:10 PM, Eastern time to figure this one out for me. GO!

So he and I are hanging out at home all day and I’ve been trying to think of all the things I should get done with this unexpected day off. So far, I’ve eaten a bowl of cheerios and checked Facebook. I can check those things off the list! I should probably move his sheets and pajamas from the washer to the dryer… after I drink my coffee.

I also have another situation to deal with that completely perplexes me and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it. For the moment, I’m not doing anything about it, which I’m sure doesn’t sound like a big deal until I tell you that it involves my living room, a trash can, and vomit. Yeah, I should probably get to work on that. But like I said, I haven’t figured out how to deal with it, and I’m not sure google is going to be able to help me out with this one. I think calling my grandma would be more effective; she can clean anything.

Wow, I sound like Jenny with all this talk of body fluids. My apologies.

So anyway, we’ll see how this day shapes up, but right now my to-do list looks something like this.
1) Transfer laundry to dryer.
2) Toss trashcan out the back door.
3) Snuggle up with my boy.

That should about do it.

So, with Jonah, I’m getting proactive.  I’m gonna have this kid in big-boy pants by the time he’s two!

Ok, not really. But somehow I’ve discovered that I CAN get him to poop on demand!  Well, not really demand.  But he’s sort of trained to poop when I lay him on his changing table.  Like Pavlov’s dog salivated when he heard the bell, Jonah moves his bowels when I lay him down on the changing table.  It. is. AWESOME.  And rather impressive, I must say!

Gearing up to pop out a poop!

I kid you not, if it’s diaper changing time, and he has not already pooped, I just lay him down there and within about 2 minutes he will produce a very loud, ginormous key-rap.  I first realized it after a couple times where I changed him TOO quickly and he immediately (and loudly) soiled the brand-new diaper.  And once when he pooped bare-buns on the changing table. EEEWWW.

Since he is SO very consistent with this, I have learned to take off his pants and pull his onesie way up to his shoulders because sometimes he will still shoot ‘em straight up the back even when he’s laying there!  I learned this lesson the hard way – several times.

So there ya go. I’ve got my baby poop trained.  If being trained to poop in a diaper, on a changing table, is worth anything at all…it’s at least worth a laugh!

This is Sophie’s school picture for her first year of preschool.  They just came home with her this week and I loooove them!  Look at that sweet little face!

One of the fun things about Sophie being in school this year is all the friends she has made (like this guy, for instance).  Yesterday we had a playdate with her friend Dominick for the first time.  Of course the first playdate for the kids is like a first date for the moms – so I was a little nervous.  But I liked Dominick’s mom, Danielle, right away and we had a nice time.

The weather was gorgeous so we were sitting on the patio while the kids played on the swing set.  I was holding Jonah when Sophie approached the patio – I could kind of see Soph out of the corner of my eye, just kind of standing…

“Sophie, what are you doing?” I called over my shoulder.

“Umm…I think she’s about to pee  in the dog bowl,”  said Danielle.

ABOUT TO PEE IN THE DOG BOWL??

I whipped around to see Sophie with her pants around her ankles, on her way down into a squat above a giant bowl of water for Danielle’s dogs.

I threw the baby at Dom’s mom and grabbed Sophie. “Sophie that is not a potty!  And we do not go potty outside!  We go potty inside!”

“I wanna go potty OUTSIIIIDE!” she screamed as I hauled her bare buns into the house and frantically tried to locate the bathroom.

After she had finished her business, we headed back outside where I reclaimed my baby, but sadly, not my pride.

“I have NO idea where that came from.  I promise you we do NOT use the bathroom outside at our house! ” I tried to assure the woman I had just befriended.  Luckily for me, she laughed it off and did NOT immediately show us the door.

I must admit I was flabbergasted – this really came out of nowhere.  I have NO idea why the Soph thought a giant dog bowl full of water on her friend’s porch would make a proper toilet.

But hey, since I didn’t let her make a literal splash, at least she definitely made a figurative one!

This morning, my anal-retentive need to be early REALLY paid off!  Because when I picked Jonah up out of his bouncy seat to put him  in his car seat, he had pooped through his clothes up to his shoulders. (My first thought was, well THIS is what I get for daring to take the time to eat breakfast and put on makeup! FOOL!)

Emergency!! Diaper change AND clothes change at the last minute!  Plus I still had to get Sophie in her coat, hat, mittens, etc. Eep!  Fortunately there was a laundry basket with clean clothes unfolded in the dining room (yes! my slacker housekeeping pays off!) so I didn’t have to run upstairs and dig through his drawers for an outfit.

I stripped him, gave his back, shoulders, and nether-regions a baby wipes bath, and got him changed and dressed.  Then popped him in his car seat and got Sophie ready to go.

We were in the car by 9:14.

Shew! {wipes forehead}.

Oh, crap. (Pun intended.) I just remembered I still have his poop-covered clothes sitting out!  Yikes!  Umm…gotta go!

I was getting my bowling groove on when all of a sudden Sophie began to fuss. “Need help! Need HELP!” she cried frantically. I turned to look at her and she had her hand extended toward me, covered in peanut butter. Neither of my kids like it when their hands get messy while they’re eating so I am used to having to wipe her hands before she can finish her meal. But as I walked toward her to grab a napkin, I realized: She’s not eating peanut butter. That can’t be peanut butter.

I took hold of her wrist and got a whiff and panicked. THAT’S NOT PEANUT BUTTER!

It was poop.

She had a chicken nugget in one hand, and a bunch of poop in the other.

I immediately did what I could with a napkin, then began jumping around screaming “NO touch! No touch!” while frantically trying to locate the wipes and wrestle the Wii controller that was strapped to me off of my arm. (I am very good in a panic situation. {Sarcasm sign!})

I found the wipes, got her hand cleaned up, washed it in soap and scalding water (just kidding, it was just really warm), managed not to VOMIT, and then went about changing her diaper. I quickly discovered that she’d had a bit of a blowout, and feeling poop on her lower back, had reached back to find out what the heck was going on back there. And found out. Eeeeeww.

I made it almost six years as a mother without having a kid stick his or her hand in their own poo, I guess that is pretty good. But YUCK. It was disgusting.

And it is time for Camp Potty to begin TODAY!

Sophie thought it would be fun to climb onto the potty backwards and try to fit both her little feet in the removable cup:

Then she got the cup out and played with it for awhile. Which, even though it was clean, totally grossed me out! Finally, I got her to put the cup back and assume the appropriate position:

I let her watch a little TV so she’d chill on her seat. Word Girl is good potty-time entertainment, FYI.

Twice I put her on the potty with no diaper. The first time, “nothing happened” (just like on her “My Big Girl Potty” book!) The second time, I went in the kitchen to throw her diaper away, and she stood up and peed on the floor while I was in there. Ahh, that’s my girl!

So, anyways, it’s begun. You have lots of pee-pee, poop, and other assorted potty talk to look forward to, and I probably have an increased dosage of anti-depressants, Mountain Dews, and Hershey bars to look forward to. GAME ON!

Fast-forward to 2:37 a.m when I hear Sophie crying loudly over the baby monitor. I take Ambien to help me sleep, and since at this point I’d only had about 4.5 hours of sleep as opposed to the eight you are supposed to be able to “devote yourself to” with Ambien, I was a LITTLE out of it. I stumbled to Sophie’s room and could smell the tell-tale stench of PUKE before I even opened the door. But once inside, I could not figure out how to turn on her light. I was just too out of it. Fortunately Bobby came in the room just then and turned it on, having his wits about him. It was then that we saw our little girl covered in chocolate ice cream puke.

It was not pretty. That, combine with Ambien dizziness and the smell, sent me running to bow to the Porcelain God myself. So. That was awesome. Bobby, who is Superman, sent me back to bed and gave Sophie a bath and cleaned up all the mess himself.

This morning, Sophie seems totally fine. Bobby said she was fine in the middle of the night, too. No fever, super-cheerful, etc. So, I am going to have to blame this one on myself. As Emily said when I told her about last night’s events, “That’s what you get for shoving ice cream in her mouth, MOM.”

Lesson learned!