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“It’s all over my hands, Momma,” he proclaims, with a hint of panic in his voice. I look up from the computer to find my son wearing nothing but a turtleneck and a look of grave concern, his hands outstretched toward me.
“What happened, buddy?”
His volumous brown eyes spill over with tears, fear and relief co-mingling down his face. “I’ve got poopy all over my hands, Momma,” he cries—my tender-hearted son who cannot bear to have his hands dirty. A stray piece of oatmeal stuck to a thumb can send him into a tizzy—he is now officially beside himself.
“I tried to go potty, Momma, but I couldn’t. I was dirty, Momma.” He sobs—equally upset by the mess he’s created and the mess he thinks is coming. I take a deep breath and guide him back to his room, steering him, or his hands, rather, clear of all obstacles. Wiping them carefully, I applaud his desire to use the potty, all the while trying not to think of what awaits me in the bathroom. It is a step in the right direction—albeit a messy and mis-timed one.
Independence is so hard-earned at three. I wonder, with tender, mother-hearted compassion, how long he struggled in fear before asking help of the very one whose response he feared the most. I call his father to deal with the bottom half—he was about to give him a bath anyway—and I kiss him on the nose while I tickle his tummy, eliciting a smile at last from my nervous little potty-neophyte. “Next time, buddy, come get Mommy if you’re poopy, got it?”
“Got it, Momma,” he grins.
>Bless his little heart. And how much do I love the phrase “little potty-neophyte”? At least he (unlike my charmning twin boys) wasn’t PLAYING IN his poop when you went to get him after his nap…bad bad twin mom day.Beth
>This makes me cry. I regret the times I blamed V for waiting too long to go and then having an accident, with an unloving response. What a sweet picture this is. I’ll do better next time. Thank you Lorie for posting this.
>Yeah, we had a playing with poop day also. He got a spanking that day… Not such a happy moment, Cindy!
>Is this what the joys of motherhood bring?Last spring, I had to clean up a mess that Duchess did on the loveseat and on me. The poor girl was sick. In my house, the dogs more or less have control of the house which means Duchess is allowed to be on top of the loveseat like the cat. Last spring she was really sick and poop spat out of her tail on my hair and sleep clothes and the loveseat. It was the biggest disgusting mess I ever had to deal with. Maybe my uncle has a point about the messes parents must face.
>Oh, Marsha. This was nothing! Let me tell you about the times they’ve VOMITTED all over me!Parenting is not for the weak of stomach, that is for sure!
>I guess Uncle John has a point there, since he witnessed the whole thing with Duchess. That whole episode last spring was disgusting.