Inland Empress

Potty training haiku II

Something to show me?
I'm so proud of my big boy --
You pooped on the rug!

Top of the poops, er, pops

I bet you didn't know I'm a sometime song-writer. Okay, not really, just one or two when I'm desperate, as I was a few months ago when I needed a bedtime song that didn't completely annoy the super-fickle Monsterling.

The song I composed spontaneously has become a household standard, and as of yesterday, the first song Minitaur has actually memorized and sung back to me. This from a kid who still doesn't speak complete sentences.

Without further ado, the lyrics to my lovely ditty:

Mommy poops, Daddy poops
Seth poops, Nellie-cat poops
Granma poops, Lucy-cat poops
Everybody in the whole world poops.

Chorus:
Everybody poops, everybody poops
Everybody in the whole world poops.
(repeat)

I've added verses that run through various relatives, farm and/or zoo animals, cartoon characters and countries (Autralians poop, Koreans poop ... ) Minitaur joins in for a rousing chorus, wailing "evvee-boh-dee pooo-ooo-ooo-pth." When he's putting himself to sleep, I'll often hear him whispering, "Mommy poopth, Daddy poopth."

It just brings a tear to the eye, doesn't it?

UPDATE: My neighbor and fellow blogger, Ontario Emperor, muses on his site about how readers can influence a blog such as this one. Read the comment here and then go there. Cheers.

Potty training haiku

Please don't cry; sometimes
grown-ups pee on the floor too.
Who's Mommy's big boy?

Doo-doo, poo-poo, ka-ka. There, I said it.

Early on in this blog, I vowed to eschew poopy diaper posts. Let other Mommy bloggers (and some Daddies) indulge a penchant for juvenile scatology: my scribblings would steer clear of all things fecal. It just seemed clichéd, and too cutesy somehow, and would turn off non-parents who might stumble onto this blog.

To date, I’ve made only three mentions of this particular excretion. My diet should only go so well; I’d be a size 6 by now.

But I’m breaking my promise, because my son was particularly feculent today, and this is not a good thing. If you have children, you will cringe in sympathy. If you don’t, consider this a warning.

We started so innocently. We were going to the pool – good Mommy! I put him in a swimmer diaper and got towels and snacks ready – excellent Mommy! Just before leaving, my nose detected toxic emissions and I whipped out my personal hazmat kit; plastic baggie, changing pad, wipes, extra diaper. Awesome Mommy.

I yanked the soiled swimmie down around Minitaur's knees.

Stupid, stupid Mommy.

The turd was soft and squishy and the size of a baseball. It landed with a sploosh on our hardwood floor and promptly disintegrated as I tried to pick it up with a wad of baby wipes.

The really fun part wasn’t how bits of dung clung to his legs or my arms. Nor was it the fit I threw.

No, the highlight was hearing my son practice the word “shit” while marching and dancing and wriggling with delight around his pile of potty.

Bottom line: I have taught my son a new word. I have disinfected my entire floor. I have scrubbed an entire layer of skin off the both of us. I have learned more about the texture of human scat than is normal.

Plus, I got to think up some poop puns for this post. My day is now complete.