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Poopmageden, the carpet chronicles.

 I would be lying if I said I was overjoyed to start potty training. The idea of not buying diapers is like a dream come true, but actually...

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Poopmageden, the carpet chronicles.

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 I would be lying if I said I was overjoyed to start potty training. The idea of not buying diapers is like a dream come true, but actually potty training sounds like everything I don't want to do. For some reason I got a wild hair up my ass and wanted to take care of it. I kept telling myself "Oh! it won't be that bad."
Well folks, I'm here to tell you it's THAT FUCKING BAD. Picture this: It's a hot day, and we are playing inside because lord knows I'm not about to stand on my unshaded patio while the sun blisters my delicate Scandinavian skin. At this point in this adventure we've introduced Tater to the potty and he says "Poop!!!"when he has to go. From across the room I hear this silly little "Poop!"
  I rush to get the little kid potty out of the bathroom (like some sort of unpaid bar bathroom attendant- except I don't have mints and dollar store perfumes). I move like a leopard to try and get the Tater to poop on the potty.
 I make it out of the bathroom with the potty to find a small two year old shitting under my kitchen table on my carpeted floor. We both just kind of stared at each other, I had a look of disgust, while his was a grin of ragging satisfaction. I don't think he could have grinned any bigger, honestly. Shit eating grin no pun intended.  For a second I just stood there, really unsure how I needed to handle this. I wanted to scream my head off, yet I didn't want to scare him from using the potty. All I could say was "We poop in the potty." Nothing more, nothing less. I cleaned him up, diapered him, and cleaned the floor. Of course it had to be the smelliest toddler poop in the history of the universe (fucking blueberries.) It was like the episode of 'The Office' where Packer takes a dump on Michael's carpet. Oddly I thought I would always be Packer in that situation. (If you don't know what I'm talking about stop reading my blog, go to Netflix and watch the US version of The Office. DO IT.)
   My house smelled like a rotting Chuck E Cheese.  The carpet cleaner and it's magical liquid lavender kind of broke through the smell but I still feel like we had to evacuate the building for safety/sanity reasons.
  Me being the well put together, structured parent that I am, I put my shoeless child in the car. With no idea where we were going but it just wasn't here. Target would cause a melt down, the park was too hot (seriously it was like Satan's dirt star hot.) I didn't want to dare to take him into a restaurant or movie theater because, no. (No explanation needed there.) It was almost 5 o'clock... almost dinner time. Micky D's wasn't an option, so I decided on the next best thing...
  We pulled into the ice cream parlor parking lot. All of Tater's dreams came true in that moment. I know what you're thinking.. "You shouldn't reward him for shitting on your carpet!" Yet, here I was "rewarding" him. Really what happened was my ability to give a single care failed me. I was done with the day. Emotionally, physically, mentally DONE. Bedtime was still hours away so I had to figure something out.
 We walked in to what was total chaos. Moms and kids everywhere, we fit right in. Every kid was a sticky, dirty, happy mess, all while the mom's looked at ease. My choice was valid. Tater picked the cotton candy ice cream which was blue, purple, and green. He had a white shirt on, and I didn't care. We sat in the grass under the mist machine and he became a happy, sticky, dirty mess. We sat while he ate, and talked about the trees and the sky. We laughed, and the frustrating day started to melt away. The smell of 'poopmageden' slowly disappeared from my nose.
 We walked around in the heat of 10,000 suns for a few minutes before heading to the car. We buckled up, and I put on the Moana soundtrack for the one millionth time this week. We sang along until part way through song 3 (the one they sing in the village, it's like the island is all you need, I'm too lazy to google it.) I heard soft little snores coming from the seat behind me. I turned off the music and for a moment our whole world was calm. I took a deep breath before the internal struggle of waking him up hit me. It was only 6:15 which meant if he slept through the night he'd be up at 4:30 a.m.
 I carried his sleepy, heavy ass body into the house. Why did I choose a house with stairs? Seriously carrying a 42 pound toddler up the stairs is the worst. I tucked his sleepy little face in, and closed the door. I'll take the 4 am wake up.



He woke up at 8:30 because he peed through his diaper. THERE IS NO WINNING.

-s


You can follow my fitness/mom/poop journey on Instagram! @raisingtaters

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S is a snarky Mom, with a lot to say. This blog covers every thing from an abundant amount of vomit, to things that are just too sticky. You'll find recipes, laughs, and honesty. With a toddler, a dog, and a really patient husband this Mama can accomplish things.