So there I was, sitting in the living room reading
comic books literature. My wife was gone for the night, she likes to sing with her chorus on Tuesday nights. I had been reading for less than five minutes when SHE walked into the room. I didn’t hear a door open, or her footsteps. It was as if she just appeared out of thin fucking air. She had fox in one hand and a sippie cup full of milk in the other.
She was wearing her favorite pj’s and her curls were still drying from her bath. She stood there with a coy smile full of cuteness that would make her win a Hobbit look a like contest. We stood there in silence for a moment just looking at each other. That’s when I asked, “what’s up Rosebud?”
It was clear in that second that this dame knew how to play mind games. She stared back at me with a smile, and replied,”I POOP!”
I sat there in silence. I didn’t know if she was serious or not. I have heard that sometimes she gets confused. Mistaking peeing for pooping and what not.
I asked her, “did you pee?”
“I POOP, IIIIII POOP!”, was her only reply. It was clear that some detective work was in order. I already put her night time diaper on and she usually only poops in the morning. Was she playing me? I was on the case. That’s when the smell hit me in the face like a hammer. You didn’t exactly have to be Sgt. Joe Friday to know something was in those shorts.
I picked her up as she was still grunting and swept her off to her room to get down to business. I opened the diaper to unleash a smell that if you were not a parent you would think came from the deepest darkest circle of hell….No, it was just poo, and I was about to be elbow deep in it.
After having to almost hogtie my daughter to the changing table I managed to clean her up and myself and throw the diaper away. She shut the lid exclaiming, BYE POOP!”
I think it is about time for some potty training.