💩 as a Means of Communication

Everybody poops.  There is a book with this title.  There are several other books that attempt to teach, motivate and inspire children to join the masses and poop happily on the toilet.  You can sing about it, you can rhyme about it, you can watch Elmo rap about it.  I knew this.

What I didn't know is that my life would soon revolve around poop, the presence or absence of it, and it's use as a form of communication among family members.  💩💩💩

As I'm sure you have already guessed, we are potty training the two year old.  She made the call at the end of July and we followed her lead (isn't that how it always goes with these tiny dictators?)  We did this despite the fact that we had a newborn on our hands.  What I bet you haven't already guessed, is that even the dog got involved.

Our tiny leader nailed it with going number one on the potty, but has since used the refusal to do number 2 as a way to slowly destroy us.  Days go by and she stands strong, refusing it, fighting it, holding it and melting in to this truly shitty version of herself.  (Pun intended).  

Little brother has the opposite problem.  He uses poop to express himself by expressing it all over himself, you and anything within a 5 foot radius.  The kid has poop power like I've never seen before.  He smiles his toothy grin at me while I remove a clean diaper (what? how?!) and then clean the liquid yellow from his toes, back and neck.  We now have a designated poop bowl where we hand-wash his hand-me-downs.  At least the ones that don't get directly deposited in to the garbage.  

Then the dog caught on.  Feeling generally neglected and kicked to the curb she began using poop in place of the middle finger that she lacks.  I imagine her thought process went something like, "Oh, you're finally going to take me on a walk are you?  Too little too late."  She would then move to the middle of the road, lay down some heat, and watch me sweat with a toddler screaming "why she poop in the road?!?!  GET IT MAMA!!" and an infant struggling against my chest as I lean over to scoop up her steamy pile with my hands.  The ultimate doggy diss.  This became a regular occurrence despite my efforts to win back her love.

We have found ourselves making plans around whether or not poop will happen, has happened or needs to happen, and whether or not we will have the supports necessary to sustain either occurrence.  I am holding out for a new form of communication to evolve within our family unit.   Until then, I will give thanks for cheap princess undies, hand-me-down outfits and wine.  Lots and lots of wine.