Okay, so not exactly MY poop. It was the little man’s poop. But in an effort to pay homage to Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg, I stayed true to the phrasing.
We thought we were done. He’d finally mastered the art of using the toilet. Wiping, no, but that’s a whole other situtation which I won’t worry about right now. Nobody takes their mom to college with them because they can’t wipe their own bum, right?
About a month ago, the little man went crazy. That is truly the only explanation I can come up with. A week before his fifth birthday, he got up from the living room floor, said “I’ll be right back” and went into his room and closed the door. Now, a year ago this would have been cause for alarm as this would SURELY have meant he was in there dropping a trouser bomb, but we were past that. We were confident in his newfound skills and knew we were in a poop-free situation.
Or so we thought.
A few minutes later we heard the little man giggling and jumping up and down. Mr. Awesome went to his room to investigate what was happening, and I have never heard the tone that errupted from him seconds later. It was a mixture of anger, disgust, disbelief, shock…and then an eery calm, followed by silence.
Because what do you say when your almost five year old son takes off his pants, empties a cardboard box, crouches over the box and POOS? And then proceeds to check out the poo and wind up smearing it on the carpet and closet doors?
You say nothing. Because rage and despair have stolen your voice.
This incident was followed by another, where he made “a nest” of toilet paper on the floor in the bathroom and made a deposit, and several other times where he figured the best place to have a pee was in the corner of his bedroom.
Needless to say, all the Lego he’d been rewarded for his toilet achievements was promptly removed. I am happy (and relieved) to note that this phase has now passed and we are back to putting “things” where they should go, but it really shook my understanding of the child psyche. He got his Lego back and we’re all good again…for now.
Parenthood. It gets you every time. Just when you think you’ve mastered one phase and finally moved on to greener pastures, your kid poos in a box.