Dirty pants

Girls? Lets clean these up all sparkling!!

My Mum has always been rather good about surprising me with knowledge, insight and random hands-on examples just when I didn’t think I needed it. One of the things that I love about her.

One that really sticks in my mind is the day after Vincent was born. There I was, extremely sore (don’t worry, I won’t get into any detail about that. You, for sure, don’t want to hear it and I don’t want to relive it) and just kind of… for lack of a better word…stumped.

The first time was about poop. Vincent was hanging out in my little private room, Mum was there and I think the last time I had changed a diaper might have been when my sister was little. And that’s a BIG ‘might’. I just honestly don’t remember.

And there he was, with a dirty bum and me kind of going “Um. So I guess I just… umm…take this off?” I had no idea what I was doing. AND it was meconium, which is the poop equivalent of tar. I dabbed at it gently, not wanting to hurt my 1 day old baby.

Mum practically pushed me out of the way and efficiently and properly cleaned that little bum until it looked like a freshly mopped floor. It sparkled.

Thanks Mummy.

So this past visit, while lovely, has a little star-mark next to Mum’s latest nugget of wisdom. Which just happens to be about poop too. Surprise!

V came home from school with a teeny bag containing on pair of dirty underwear. While practically potty-trained, he does tend to hold ‘it’ until he gets home. And surprises us with the gift of poo a short while after we get home.

Tonight, I even thought I would derail the poo-pants by giving him a stat-bath and then leaving him naked for the rest of the evening. And as a result? There was not only no poo, but he peed on the potty all night long and resisted all attempts to sit on it. Or discuss poo. Or poo.

*gah!*

Pretty much I am resigned to an awful awakening tomorrow.

Back to my Mum… She taught me this nice little trick.

Have pants with poop on them? No worries!! Just wash them out IN THE TOILET.

At first, I was just like ‘Huh. Right. I’ll just try that when you are not around.’

And then on of the days she was here, there was an incident and she just (pardon me Mummy and my language) balls-out swept those dirty pants out of my hands and proceeded to scrub them out in the potty. WITH HER BARE HANDS.

I watched on in awe…

What else could you really watch with??

And then I got a mini-lecture about how to clean dirty pants in the potty, how this is the best way, how it was done in the 70’s with cloth diapers and how it was a great way to deal with poop-underwear.

So, this past weekend, I thought I would deal with the problem as my mother did (does) etc. And so, Sunday, that is how Edward caught me. Sitting on a wee stool (ha!), in front of a potty, scrubbing 2 sets of pants (or underwear, whatever you want to call them) in the toilet bowl.

I think he was coming up to ask me a question. Upon seeing the ‘situation’, he back right out, picked up Vince and took him straight to the tent… The tent being located in one of our upstairs bedrooms, filled with V’s toys courtesy of V’s Grampa.

Meanwhile, I gagged away, as I scrubbed out the poop out of those little pants. Man, was I ever trying. I WILL not throw these pants out. I WILL keep them!! I WILL scrub them until you can see no streak marks!

And then 2 days later, my resolve failed me after a particularly messy, wet and just plain ol’ gross ‘deposit’.

I threw away 2 pairs of underwear because I could not deal with the ‘package’. I am a wimp. Just in the last 3 days. I lasted that long. But honestly, it was a wee bit of a fail. Vince announced the arrival and, once I pulled down his pants to deal with it, well, I just couldn’t.

No amount of swishing them around in the potty would be happening. None would be happening, actually. I looked at them, removed them and put them in the Diaper Genie. Kind of hoping, actually, that the throwing out of his most favorite underwears would be some sort of violation and he would suddenly feel compelled to go to the potty from now on…

And when that didn’t happen the second time, I felt a bit cheated. And sort of like I had had a fecal-chastisement. A kind of “Oh you thought so, did you? Well, think again!”

Lord is potty-training ever frustrating. Especially with all of these little curves that get tossed at you. It’s always one thing or another, both literally and figuratively speaking.

Please, lets all pray that its nearing it’s end… You know, ‘end’… Ha!!

xoxo a.m

Dirty Baptism (of sorts)

Last weekend I was shopping at Kohl’s (which is my favorite place to shop for…. well….. anything, oh and everything). For my Canadians, Kohl’s is like shopping at The Bay. Or how shopping at The Bay used to be, just with more sales as everything seems to be at least 50% off when I am there.

So there I was, with V, looking for something to wear to dinner with M to celebrate our 4th anniversary.

I can fit a stroller in the change room AND I had a huge bag of cheesy-poofs for him to occupy himself with.

I must have had a million outfits hanging off the stroller. Some of them were even cheesy-poof free (he has grabby hands)…. (and apparently I am Queen of the brackets tonight).

Off we went to the changing room, poofs and outfits in hand. I strategically maneuvered the stroller until it was in front to the mirror, so V could stare at himself. I figured that this would occupy him, while I pulled things on and off my head…

Off came my tank-top and on went a dress. V was transfixed in the mirror, staring away at himself.

Off went the dress and on went another dress….. V’s little hand was slowly reaching towards the mirror, pointer finger extended with such a charming expression on his face. He looked up towards me in the mirror, with such an excited look on his face….

Off went that dress and on went a skirt and top….. V’s little hands were splayed out on the surface of the mirror. Again, he looked up at me in the mirror and smiled at me….

Off went the skirt and top, and on went another dress…. V’s hands were running up and down the mirror, and I forgot that he had been eating baby cheesey poofs. His hands were wet and covered in poofs and he was smearing them all over the mirror.

I looked at the mirror, and looked at him (and then looked at me in the mirror in that dress….. and didn’t try anything else on). He was ecstatic! I was doubled over trying to silently giggle. The ladies in the changing rooms next to me were loudly critiquing each others outfits in a very New York accenty sort of way. I think it masked my laughter.

The mirror was filthy. A full 1 1/2 foot section covered in smear. Smear which was gluten free!!

I didn’t care!

I bought the dress.

And we left the mirror just like that. Silent homage to my new motherhood?  Baptism of changing room? Mixture of both.