Ok, we were inside. No, this wasn’t the parent’s home, it was the grandparent’s beautiful home with WHITE carpet. Anyway, as I settled in and cautiously fed my now outgoing child over this white carpet, he’d run over to the gifts and riffle through them between bites. He was pulling out tissue paper, switching cards and even took a few bites out of the gifts themselves. Did I raise a monster? At this point, I had given up on being able to eat myself as he had proven to be quite the handful. Well, my hunger got the best of me and after my friends telling me they’d keep an eye on him while I ate, I beelined for the kitchen.

When I returned, everything seemed to be fine, until he found a few purses that just so happened to be close by. He began sneaking past my attempts to keep him at bay and now he was switching cell phones! I could not have a freaking adult conversation if I tried.

Well, I did try. Tavin and I headed out back to mingle with some friends I hadn’t seen in a while. The rain had stopped, but the yard was soaked. No place for a toddler, but the number one place he wanted to go. I swear it was freezing, but I was sweating chasing after him and starting to feel really overwhelmed.

I knew he was tired so I went inside and found a rocking chair and thought we’d rest a little bit. Just then, it was time to cut the cake so we watched from afar and when the cake was cut, the birthday boy’s dad was kind enough to bring Tavin and I a piece to share. So as I took a deep breath ands started to enjoy this moment we were having, Tavin had a random temper spasm and flung the cake face down on the WHITE carpet! I was mortified. I was able to get  the mess cleaned up with the help of others just in time for someone to bring us a new piece of cake. I was standing there with Tavin and the cake and as I began to move forward to a tiled location to eat with him… He wiggled down and as I bent over to ease his fall, the cake fell too.

The tears started welling up and I asked my friend to watch him while I found the cloth to wipe up yet another disaster. When I got to the bathroom, I noticed that the cake had also left its mark all over my white shirt. I was done for, but I needed to pull it together long enough to clean up and get the hell out of there. Well, I made it out there with the rag, but when someone was like, “didn’t you already clean up that cake?” I couldn’t hold back the tears. Just then, my friend came back with Tavin informing me that he had pooped and in the next moment, the entire party was headed my way because the cake fiasco just so happened to take place next to all the gifts and it was present time. I begged a friend to clean up the mess and I bolted. Poop in his pants and all, we didn’t even say goodbye as we left.

Once outside, I saw it was raining cats and dogs. Ladies were waiting for their gentlemen to bring the car around. Well, my gentleman was working so Tavin and I just had to suck it up and go.

As the rain hit me, I felt the tears come down even harder. Why is this so difficult? Why can’t anything be normal? Why can’t me SON be normal?

On the drive home he didn’t make a peep. I think he was still stunned by the rain and all my crying! Soon, he fell asleep and looking in my rear view mirror, I knew it was “just one of those days.” It was one of those days I bargained for in exchange for all the great ones I get now that he’s around. Even still… it will forever be known as The Second Cake Fiasco. The first was at my wedding and we WILL NOT go there now.

It may be hard to believe, but these day’s I’m actaully pretty mellow about my son’s poop situation… and more focused on my own. Not so much on it’s color and consistency, but the process of it all. I remember the days sitting in peace with my Cosmo and a scented candle; now I’m wrangling a munchkin hoping to drop some kids off at the pool already.

He wants to sit on my lap, then down to play with the toilet paper. Next it’s the magazine rack and then keeping him away from my undies and his further attempts to find out what exactly it is I’m doing.  (Too personal?)

Meanwhile, my husband gets a freakin vacation in the john when it’s his turn. I swear he’s in there for like 45 minutes and when I called him out on it, he pulled the,”don’t make me feel guilty for pooping” card! I guess I have bad timing.

Anyway, here’s the crime scene my son recently left behind. Since this photo was taken, he now enjoys ripping up the toilet paper. I shit you not.

Much like the story of our original stopped-up poogriner, Tavin, giving birth to his lovely twins, my darling little one had a slightly less traumatic constipation incident – however, the better part of our story is what happened once the antagonistic turd finally set itself free. The bathtub trick does work, by the way – softens ‘em right up and knocks ‘em lose every time!

I can’t remember exactly how old Chloe was when this happened but I want to say maybe around four to five months.  The day went something like this: grunt, strain, turn purple, tear up… mom checks the diaper – no poop. One hour later: grunt, strain, turn purple, tear up… mom checks the diaper – no poop. Repeat, repeat, you get the picture.

A frantic trip to the grocery store for prune juice and a failed attempt to force feed it to a baby that at the time absolutely refused to take a bottle, and another round of grunt, strain, turn purple, tear up, no poop. It’s now 6:30 at night and time for a bath.

As predicted, the relaxing bath gets things “flowing”, finally. I see my little angel rocking that funny squished face and the last thing I want to do is interrupt the crap she’s been trying take for an entire day so I just let happen. Five seconds later, my baby is sitting happily in her tub with Tootsie Rolls swimming around her.

So what do I do? I scoop them up in my bare hands and start yelling for my husband to come and frickin’ help me!   The toilet is clear on the other side of the bathroom and the only thing a mom could do that would be worse than marinating her child in poop would be to walk away and leave her beloved unattended in the tub, right? So I hold the prize and yell.

Hubby (finally) walks into the bathroom to find his daughter happy as can be (sweet relief!) and his exasperated wife sitting there with a fresh, sopping number two cupped in her hands.  I tried to pass it to him for some reason but, yeah, he was having none of that.  I think I just wanted him to be initiated with me!

Anyway, we cleaned it all up and laughed about it later but the moral of the story is this:  when the shit starts to fly just put your hand out and catch it (and know you’re not alone)!

He had been trying all day to get one out and busy me, I was repeatedly relieved when I took him to the changing table to find no poop to deal with. When dinnertime rolled around he was really starting to get mad as he strained and refused any food. So I took him to the changing table once again to do some research and development on the issue at hand. It was then that I was horrified to see that his butt-hole had literally disappeared as it was stretched to the max and I could actually see the poop inside trying to get out.

I quickly scooped him up and went to the fridge to grab the number for the pediatrician hot-line. As I waited for a nurse to return my call, I plopped my screaming baby into the tub because it was the first thing I could think of that might relive the pain and possibly soften that enormous turd. I saw some tiny poop floaters start to surface so I took him out of the tub and sat him on a towel that was on my lap and let his butt hang between my legs, like I was a human toilet and the towel was to catch the poop. He tried to make the most of it, but began to cry harder so back into the tub he went.

As he crawled around in the warm water crying and pushing, the seconds seems to pass like hours, as anyone who’s heard a crying baby can relate to. So I called my husband, who ALWAYS seems to be working when shit hits the fan, and he suggested cutting up a suppository and using that. I tried explaining that if I put one of those things up his butt I would be sticking it into the poop because I can physically SEE it up there. He proceeded to calmly explain to me that it would “melt” the poop and help it come out. So I agreed.

Now, I’ve always had negative feelings about those things like gross, sick, ewww; but, this was my son and I had to do what needed to be done. Just one problem, I have a naked screaming kid with an enlarged butt-hole and no suppositories. So, I called MY mommy. I sent her on a mission to bring me the cone-shaped wonders.

As soon as I hung up with her, Tavin stood up and let out a piercing scream and there was a kir-plunk into the bathwater. A poop! A split second later, another. My son gave birth… to twins! As soon as I congratulated him on his BIG accomplishment, I flipped him over and checked to make sure he hadn’t ripped the crap out of his butt.

Then, with perfect timing, the nurse called to whom I explained that all was well and that my son was now the proud father of twins. She decided to tell me anyway that I should feed my kid more whole grains and fruit as I thought to myself, ”Hey thanks for the lecture lady!”

With the commotion settled, I scooped up the poops and dropped them into the toilet, re-ran the bathwater and gave my son a proper bath and finally got him to bed.

As I walked out of his room I was faced with the aftermath to clean up including, my own drenched clothing, poop towels and bath toys that needed sterilizing. Yet, I was relieved and had never been happier in my life to flush two turds down the toilet. I ALMOST took a picture, but decided against it at the last minute… Lucky you!