It’s Not All Mary Poppins

I’m pooped out. But hopeful.

Poop, poop, poop. It’s all about poop at Mary’s these days.

Despite earlier enthusiasm, Timmy seems to have no interest in toilet training at the moment, and Emily has never had any. So the status is two in diapers, two out, one in and out.

Anna, you see, is half there: she’ll poop in the potty, but has no idea about the pee. None. When the weather is a little warmer… like it was last week (26C/82F), like it will be next week, right after we’re done with the SNOW that’s forecast for tomorrow… when it’s a little warmer, I’ll just have the child go bare on the bottom for a day or two, see if the penny drops. Or, in the words of my gran, if she’ll spend that penny where it belongs…

And today? If there were fans here, there’d be shit everywhere. Good lord. Timmy spent the morning squeezing out the most malevolant teeny balls of malodorous atmospheric poison known to man. And sticky?!? Each one had to be scoured off his skinny butt.

I poured a half-cup of prune juice into him. Ten minutes later he had an enormous poop. E-nor-mous. Since it was far too soon to be the result of the prune juice, it seems I may have been precipitous. I now await further bowel mayhem with no little degree of consternation. Ugh.

Then Anna did one in the potty. Easier to clean up, no less odiferous.

“What did you guys eat all weekend?” I gasp through the fumes. “Good lord.”

Nigel has been told not to flush the toilet. His parents do not approve: they want the standards to be consistent, so he’ll remember to flush at home. Tough. With the number of toddlers in my home, soon to be out of diapers? Each of them producing a two-tablespoon pee every hour? And each of them flushing whatever our OLD toilet flushes? Probably an obscene amount of water.

Do I want to be responsible for flushing hundreds of excess gallons every week? No, I do not. It’s environmentally reprehensible. I doubt I could afford it, anyway.

Not that consistency has ever worked between his environments, anyway. He sleeps like a dream here; he rarely does there. He drinks gallons of water at home, and has to be encouraged to drink here. He eats all his veggies here; he’s very picky at home. The list goes on. So why they think that what he does or doesn’t do here would have any bearing on what happens at home is a mystery…

Besides, all they have to do is tell him firmly NOT to flush. He’s so contrary with them, the little bugger would be sure to flush conscientiously every.single.time if he thought they didn’t want him to.

So Nigel does NOT flush at Mary’s. I guess I’m a little contrary, too.

Anna awakes from her nap with a very large, very wet, very stinky poop. I think that brings the tally today up to nine. From two children. (Another good reason for the non-flush policy: because I do not accompany the tots on every single two-tablespoon trip up the stairs, I am not always immediately aware when something of substance has been produced. A quick glance in the bowl gives me all the info I need. And more.)

Today the junior brigade out-pooped the senior at a rate of … well, they produced infinitely more, since the olders produced nothing. (What did they eat all weekend?)

It is a bit raw out there: chill and damp. I am loathe to open windows. I am also loathe to subject anyone to the stench. Anyone walking through the door is going to be walloped with Eau de Porta-potty with their first breath. How embarrassing!

Then I consider: I’m so used to it, I can scarcely smell it any more. The next half-dozen people expected through that door are the parents. The progenitors of the producers of the noxious fumes. If they notice and are repelled, it will only serve to increase their gratitude for the services I render. “Thank God they got rid of all that shit at daycare!” Or it might make them feel guilty. (Guilty about poop? Weird, but it happens.)

Either way, it’s good for me. Appreciation, guilt? All equally promising. SOME parents, motivated by one or the other, have been known to surprise me with chocolates and flowers. Or gift certificates for spa treats.

Really.

I live in noisome hope.

April 28, 2008 Posted by | eeewww, health and safety, potty tales | 11 Comments