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Another Story about Winnie the Poop

Returning to a subject that is near and dear to my heart, and in an attempt to swear less offensively in future blog entries… I am revisiting the topic of a previous post:  “Everyone has a poop story to tell… here is mine.”

Now there has been some discussion about this, so let me clarify.  EVERYONE has a personal poop story.  If you don’t, that just means it hasn’t happened yet.  Good luck with that.

It is also possible to have MORE than one poop story.  This is where my new essay comes in… this poop story is really my daughter’s but since she was a baby at the time and I am the one who had to deal with the – literal – fall-out, I am going to tell it now.

My daughter is only 7, so she is too young to tell the story herself, though I have told it TO her… and she thinks it’s a hoot.

At 16 months old, I was giving her a bath.  While watching her play, she had a couple nuclear gas explosions strong enough to cause a small tidal wave.  I made the usual comments, “wow, trucker baby, say excuse me!”  After the second round, while the toy sail boats were still listing against her gale force winds, I looked down at her out-stretched hand where she was delightfully handing me a chunk of her own feces.

I quickly grabbed “it” from her as if it were a coiled snake – unfortunately grabbing it with my OWN bare hand… whipping my head around in a near panic… what was I supposed to do with the doo doo?… I eye spied the toilet, opened the lid and deposited the deposit where it rightfully belonged.

As I turned around, my eyes were accosted by the sight of my beautiful, smiling daughter handing me a SECOND hunk of her sh*t… holy crap (pun intended), I then noticed the tub was full of the floating debris.

Those were not explosions earlier… those were EVACUATIONS!  And there were probably 20 tub toys floating among what now looked like the fecal equivalent of the Titanic wreckage.  I was nearly mad with panic now… she was enjoying the whole “hand your momma a chunk of your own sh*t one piece at a time” game just a little too much.

I flung the second chunk on the floor.  My adrenalin was in such fight or flight mode; I didn’t even have the wherewithal to use the toilet receptacle again.  I grabbed my child, ran to her room, cleaned her up and immediately got her into a clean diaper before anything else could explode from down there.

I didn’t even know that could HAPPEN.  I just assumed there was something about the human body sitting in a tub of water that made it NOT take a dump.

After achieving a clean child, I now had to deal with a tub full of floating ducks, frogs, fish, boats and quickly disintegrating sh*t.

Later that day, I became intimately acquainted with a bottle of bleach.

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About reneadijab

Renea Dijab

View all posts by reneadijab

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