When one is the queen, her responsibilities are countless. Similarly, when one is the mother of three young children the stories pertaining to their bodily functions are perhaps immeasurable.
Today, after picking up my two princesses from pre-school, they played with a few friends for about 20 minutes. The kids played in our chariot (aka our Toyota Sienna), climbing over the rows of seats while my mommy friend and I chatted away. It was time for all of us to go and one of my princesses calls for my attention as I struggled to collapse her brother’s stroller in the rear. At that point she was standing on the front passenger seat and I noticed her pants were down. “Look!” she shouts and proceeds to give me a better view of her favorite new panties she received for the holidays. Inside laid 5 turds; some tiny in size, but turds, nonetheless. “What happened?” I screamed, though I was more surprised than angry. She has not had a poopie accident in close to a year. Both my princesses have been potty trained for more than that and conquered the throne before they were 2 ½ years old.
Fortunately, I had one scrawny and crumbled up tissue in my jacket pocket, which I used to grab the turds from her princess panties. I didn’t care if I touched , I just didn’t want them to land somewhere in the car. That sure would have been pleasurable to have a couple of pebble sized turds rolling around in the minivan. Luckily, I got them all on one fell swoop of the tissue and threw them onto the grass. But, Princess Poopie Panties still stunk. I told her that she needed to change her underwear as soon as we got home, which she did, but found it necessary to ever so graciously leave them directly in front of the front door. Of course her twin sister, Princess Dingleberry (Note: Please read yesterday’s posting entitled “Dingers” to clarify her name), needed to examine the panties and began to gag from the stench of the poo-poo skidded panties. “Put those down! You don’t need to smell them.” I exclaimed. “”But there’s still poo in her panties!” “Yes, I can see that. But you don’t need to hold them so close to your face.”
I later questioned Princess Poopie Panties why she had this poopie accident: “Did you simply fart and they just came out?” No. I knew I had to go but I was busying playing in the sandbox.” “You went outside today?” I questioned her. “It was rather cold to go outside.” I would better understand this justification for her pooping her pants if she were outside on the playground and had an accident. “No, the sandbox in the classroom.” “Do you mean the sand table?” I asked. “Yes, the sand table.” “Where you just too busy playing that you forgot to go to the bathroom?” I was rather confused at this point. “No. I just didn’t want to go. I was having fun playing.” Well, that just clears it all up.
Princess Dingleberry had another gaging fit this evening when her baby brother had his first real—Ok, sort of real—poo of his short 5 month life. We started him on rice cereal a few days ago and the poor little fella has been pretty bound up since his exposure to food, if you can even classify the watery concoction as food. Up to this point, he has been exclusively breastfed, so his BMs are basically brown, odorless liquid. Well, since trying the cereal a few days ago he has had some stinky gas, but has not pooped. While dinner was cooking in the oven, it was rather clear that he was struggling with something. I kept checking his diaper because he really smelled, but still nothing. But soon a big smile came across his face and a horrible odor quickly filled the room. Sure enough, Prince Doodie Diapers successfully pushed something out. Upon examination, I realized it resembled thoroughly squashed peas. Coincidentally, smashed peas were the side dish—not the stuff from his diaper, of course, but my attempt to make homemade baby food—to his main course of rice cereal, prepared with freshly pumped breast milk.
Immediately after seeing what was in his diaper, Princess Dingleberry began to gag. And I don’t blame her. It really did stink. But, we eventually rejoiced because it was a milestone in the little guy’s life. Here’s the problem—he wears cloth diapers and since it wasn’t turd-like in consistency, like his sister’s from earlier today, I couldn’t simply fling the thing into the toilet and call it a day. And it wasn’t the liquid that it has been up to this point, which is just absorbed into the cotton liner of the diaper. No, it just sat there like stinky pea soup. After several unsuccessful attempts to shake loose whatever I could into the bowl, I just ran it under the water from the faucet and accidentally left it in the sink. It was, after all, dinner time and I was trying to get a pseudo-balanced meal on the table. Not until Princess Dingleberry got up to use the bathroom during dinner—a daily occurrence—was I reminded that there was a dirty diaper in the sink. She’ll get used to it, I suppose and hopefully her gag reflexes will diminish with time.
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