Well, it had to happen eventually. The child is almost 2 years old and we’ve had surprisingly little poop incidents. The universe decided that I was due.
Bubble bath time. Anne is playing. I stick my hand in the water to find the facecloth. Find it and close my fist around it then realise something.
This isn’t a facecloth.
It’s … squishy.
As a matter of fact, it is …a piece of crap.
Oh. Dear. Lord.
My child has crapped in the bathtub and now I’m squeezing that piece of turd like I’m going to somehow wring the brown out of it.
I shrieked and dropped it. Anne shrieked and cried. I quickly washed my hands and pulled her out of the tub, while hollering for Brian: “Come quick! Anne pooped in the tub! I need reinforcements!”. He came in and nearly had to sit down. Then I went to wash up Anne in the sink.
By the time we were done, Brian had cleaned the tub of all poop remnants and put all of the bath toys into the dishwasher and generally taken care of the mess.
I have never wanted him more than I did at that moment. My hero. If Anne wasn’t right there, I would have taken him on the bath mat.
