Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Bath time DRAMA

Someday, when I am very old and gray and senile, I am going to live with Jude and his wife, and make them take care of me.  And every night, when I take my bath, I am going to poop in the bathtub.  Every.  Night.

You know what they say about payback.

As so many of my facebook friends know, Jude has started pooping in the bathtub.  And I figure that the third night of this (out of three) pretty much means it's a habit now.  Doesn't take this kid 21 days to have it ingrained.

The first two nights I was right on top of things, scooped that sucker right out of there so fast you almost couldn't see it make landfall.  But last night was Poopalooza 2013.  So stop reading right there if you have a weak stomach, 'cause it's gonna get real real fast.

Lately Jude has been pretty cranky when he's working on a stinky diaper, crying a little bit (definitely not constipated, though!) just as he does the deed.  Not sure why it is so distressing, but he gets over it quickly.  So when he cried intermittently thru dinner, I figured that was why.  Yep, had to clean his bum before popping him in the tub.  No worries now, he already went, won't go in the tub, right?


I was in John's and my bedroom across the hall putting away a couple shirts when I heard grunting.  Sophia was singing a nice little bath song, so I figured it had to be the Judester.  Maybe there was more up there than I thought.  I sprinted for the bathroom, just in time to see the floater pop to the surface.  Scoop, dump, wash hands . . . really need a fishnet.

Now for the confession.

In my book, floater does not automatically equal termination of the bath.  I don't want the kids marinating in poop tea, but if it's solid and only in there for a second or two . . . 'nuff said.

So the kids continued their bath and I continued to put away laundry.  Sophia splashed Jude, he cried, I hollered toward the bathroom for her to be nice.  Soon Jude was chortling away again, happy little bather that he is.  I finished the laundry, and just as I was headed out of my room into the bathroom, I heard a cry of distress from Sophia.

"Mama, he did it again!  Jude pooped!"

I ran in . . . to find poop tea.  Jude was joyfully playing with his little offspring as Sophia tried to figure out whether to laugh or cry.  She settled on crying as I flung her out of the tub before the flotsam could reach her.  There was nothing big enough to catch anymore, so I opened the drain and turned on the water to attempt to rinse Jude off.  Now to get Jude to stand up . . . but if there is one thing Jude loves, it's his bath time.

A wet, wriggling 25 pound toddler is amazingly strong.  He screamed as though I was ripping a limb off while I attempted to hoist him upright for a rinse.  I actually did rinse him, three times, and each time he managed to plunk back down in the poop tea before I could get him out, trying to reach for his new play toys.  I finally gave up on rinsing the kid off, and lifted him, writhing, out of the tub.

In all the craziness I hadn't grabbed any towels (sorry, shivering Sophia), and as I went for one now Jude made his escape.  He dashed out into the hallway, making a break for his bedroom, arms flailing and naked buns jiggling as he continued to scream bloody murder.  I caught the little rugrat, and wrapped him up in a big beach towel like a burrito before placing him on the carpet in the back of the bathroom.  A thrice wrapped burrito.

Figuring he was trapped, I threw Sophia a towel and focused on the very slowly emptying tub full of poo infested toys.  I decided to just spray the whole shebang with tub cleaner (LOTS of tub cleaner), not thinking about Sophia/lungs until far too late.  I may have sprayed a bit too much in my craze to erase the nastiness.

About this time Burrito Man flipped himself over onto his tummy and was so infuriated with the situation that he had gotten up on his knees and face and was full-body writhing in his towel prison.  Of course continuing all the while to express his absolute displeasure vocally.

And that is when John walked in from work.

The man was cool as a cucumber.  Naked daughter crouching by the heater, attempting to dry her own hair.  Screaming son being unwrapped from a towel straightjacket.  Bathroom full of fumes from half a bottle of tub spray.  Crazed wife trying to out-shout Jude to ask hubby to take over with Sophia.

From there on out it was pretty easy-peasy.  John got Sophia settled as I stuffed Poop Man into pj's and tucked him in with Wolfie.  I got the tub cleaned, John read Bible stories and prayed, then it was lights out.  We tried not to think about how un-rinsed Jude was, and decided in the scheme of things it probably wasn't that big a deal.  The bigger problem is how to convince our 18-month old son NOT to poop in the tub anymore.  Maybe I just need to be quicker on the draw and throw him on the toilet when I hear his first grunt/cry.  Whatever the solution, I am pretty much done with the whole thing.  I wonder how Jude would feel about showers?


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1 comment:

Beth said...

I know you've read this before, but there were such remarkable similarities that I had to link up! I have no advice for how to put a stop to these ...movements, but I DO suggest to put him RIGHT into the tub after a poopy diaper, even if it's not quite the timing for a tubby you'd most prefer. At least in that case you *might* be ahead of the bath-time BM that was on its way?

Poop tea, indeed!

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