Potty Training Continues: C the Graffiti Poop Artist

So. Preschool officially stinks.  No not really but I mean COME ON!  Ever since Little C started preschool we have been sick, and I mean that literally.  I do not remember what ‘healthy’ feels like.  We had a cold, then another much nastier cold, followed by a really horrendous flu, which has in turn been followed once again by a so far middle-of-the-road upper respiratory bug.Thanks to this rather nasty turn of events, potty training has been somewhat put on hold. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say potty training a two year old with a stomach virus would be a really ballsy choice, and ain’t nobody got time to clean up that much poop. However, we have made some strides.  Little C now sits on the big girl potty (we got her a little seat for it though, too many almost-in-the-toilet incidents), and she has been telling us when she wants to go potty.  Each time that she poops on the potty it is with GREAT joy. It’s a celebration-she claps, points, sings her own praises, flushes in earnest. The problem with this newfound joy however, is that she is suddenly much more aware of the goings on in her diaper.

About a week ago, when Big C picked up Little C from preschool, he was horrified to learn from her teachers that during nap time Little C had pooped, reached in to her diaper, and had proceeded to do some artistic finger painting, if you will, all over her nap pad.  Big C and I sort of laughed it off when he got home, and quickly forgot about the incident.  Fast forward to last night.  Big C is shaving in the master bath.  Little C runs into the bedroom (attached to the master bath) and shuts the door in front of me, telling me “No mommy! You wait!”. She loves doing this, shutting the door and not letting us in-which gives me plenty of insight into what I can look forward to once she turns thirteen.  So, I walk away. She is with Big C, so nothing can happen right? WRONG.

WRONG WRONG WRONG. As I’m picking up her room, I hear a gasp from the other side of the door, followed by “BABE! Babe! Ohmygoshwhatthehell BABE!”

Turns out that our little artist had turned the white wood door of our bedroom into her personal poop easel. Poop. Poop everywhere. Smeared on the door, the wall, painted in swirls….a literal Van Gogh of poop.  The horror. The shock.  Unless you or your belongings have personally been victimized by a tiny poop graffiti artist, then you really can not comprehend what those moments are like as you stare in bewildered silence at your baby, who is grinning from ear to ear, saying “It’s poop, Mommy! I pooped!” Yes, yes you most certainly did.

Little C was placed in the bath, cleaners were sprayed, and about half a box of wipes were sacrificed to remove the mess.  Later that night, like any troubled mother, I took to Dr. Google to find out what was wrong with my child, for surely SOMETHING had to be the matter.  Playing with feces could not possibly be a normal pastime-clearly this was a sign of something much more ominous. I was greatly relieved albeit mildly disgusted to discover that poop smearing and “fecal fun” is not terribly uncommon (in toddlers that is).  Great, right? One more thing no one tells you about when you’re pregnant. No one is all like “Oh hey, by the way, when your kid turns two it’s quite possible that they are going to start painting the walls with their excrement”. Yeah, thanks for the heads up, guys. Thanks.

I am currently considering putting Little C back in snap-on onesies, or perhaps some sort of iron-clad diaper that can only be removed with a key to ensure that there are no more poop free-for-alls.  I have a feeling that a butt plug would be taking it a step too far….?  I just keep telling myself it’s going to get easier, it’s going to get better. I mean, it has to.  This whole potty training, feces fascination phase will end, hopefully sooner rather than later, and then we will be on to the next daunting stage.  In the words of the great Nelson Mandela, “it always seems impossible until it’s done”.  The thing about parenting is that your job, your role, is never really done. It simply changes, morphs, evolves.  I have come to the realization that it will probably always seem rather impossible, but at the end of the day it’s undeniably worth it (I mean, how cute is this babe?).
Thanks for reading! Muah <3




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