There are about three people who are going to tell me "I told you so" when they read this. Go on. Laugh it up.
Ryan has appointed himself the poop-watcher. For Max, of course.
"MO-OOM! He did it in here, by the green couch."
"MOM! Max did it again!" "Ewww, MOM! Is this pee?"
Sigh. It's good that he's telling me this, I mean, someone (that would be me) has to clean up. It's just that a) Max does have his little accidents despite my best efforts; b) Ryan is letting me know. At the top of his lungs. The very minute it happens; c) my world has suddenly become all about poop again.
Well, yeah. With all these kids around, at some point, you will hear about poop.
When they are newborns, you marvel at them, ooh/ahh, oh, look a dirty diaper. Cute when it's the first one but not so cute when it's what feels like the 100th one of the day in the middle of the night. I remember Mr W was so proud that his baby worked, that he regaled my friend Janna, along with her new boyfriend (now husband) with the tale of Nolan's first poop when they visited me in the hospital. In detail, with color commentary and everything. Thank heaven Dale comes from a large family and had been around babies before, or my poor friend Janna might have had a lonely flight home. I had a little chat with Mr W after that....
Then they get bigger, and the stuff gets to be more on the scale of a biohazard than you'd like to admit. Suddenly, carrying around scented garbage bags (strategically located in your purse, the diaper bag, the car...) seems like an excellent idea. Too big for you to handle it well, too small for "the chair." This is the twilight time when you long for release from the bonds of Desitin.
Finally, they reach the goal you've been dreaming of for months now, and are finally ready for potty training. Entire books written about the subject, and yet you are convinced that your child will be different, your child will be the exception, your child will be trained so quickly that you will wonder why you waited so long to do it. RIIGGGHT. Six months later, you are resignedly putting PullUps in your shopping cart, muttering to yourself that "this is the last package, really, I won't be buying these again."
Eventually, everyone makes it to the point of being able to wear "big boy <or girl> underpants." You're so happy, you wonder if a theme party celebrating this milestone would be inappropriate. 'I'm done!' you think as you look around the house.
"Mommy! A little help here?" Ryan's voice beckons me to the bathroom. Okay. Maybe I'm not done.
They are potty trained, and yet, you are still hearing (and thinking) about poop. Did he go today? When did he go last? (constipation in a toddler is not something you want to mess with) Is he cleaning up? Please, tell me he used the bathroom and didn't just flush a toy down the toilet...
While Audrey is in the midst of potty training, the other kids are finally on their own with this (except for the occasional tummy ache) and I was actually looking forward to having everyone out of diapers.
Along comes Max. Who we all adore, but is still learning how to exhibit civilized behavior. No matter how much I keep an eye on him, I have only caught him in the act once or twice. He's quick and he likes his privacy, but the Ryan alert gives him away...
I'm getting a paper towel to clean up after him today, and that's when it hit me. Until Max is potty trained, and that could take a while, my world is all about poop again.
Cleaning up, making sure he goes to the bathroom (outside), and being vigilant about toilet misshaps...I've been down this road before.
I was just hoping that this time, there'd be a detour.
I'm willing to grant him a grace period. But after that, he's getting a PullUp. I'm sure there's a doggie version somewhere out there.