Friday, May 23, 2014

Because I'm Not Writing Enough About Poop

Let me preface this story by saying that it is amusing only in retrospect because I really was not feeling well yesterday. I don't think Zuzu was either.

At least, I'm using that explanation as an excuse for the colossal meltdown she had when swimming lessons were over and it was time to get out of the pool--she tried to run and jump back in the pool without me, and when I wouldn't let go of her arm, she went boneless and lay on the concrete next to the pool, screaming and writhing. I had to pick up the wet and slippery and screeching toddler and carry her back to the dressing rooms, where she can reach the door handle (whose design idea was that, I'd like to know), and she continued to scream bloody murder when I prevented her from opening the door and running out of the room while I was in various stages of undress.

She was not pleased and just wanted "More swim!"

My mother is so cruel. Also, thirty minute swim lessons are a rip-off!
I'd texted David after swimming and asked him to please come home from work ASAP because I was really not feeling well. He ignored my text because evidently his job is important he had better things to do he enjoys coming home from work late and getting into an instant fight with a cranky pregnant lady who has a sore throat and has been dealing with a challenging toddler on her own.

Zuzu continued to push my buttons and do things that were deliberately naughty, like climb into her doll stroller (she's been told not to do this on multiple occasions after already getting stuck in the stroller TWICE). Sure enough, I was fixing dinner when I heard screeching and found this:

"Cuck! Cuck!" means "My meaty thighs are stuck in this doll stroller, please help!"
I valiantly tried to redirect her behavior. We played with her new pegboard, read a few books, watched an episode of Daniel Tiger, and after her "snack supper" of hummus and cheese and fruit (she still won't eat veggies), I collapsed on the sofa. 

So I'm lying there, wondering if I can get myself a popsicle without having to share it (for germ reasons, not selfish ones!), when Zuzu walks into the dining room, says, "Nasty poop!" and then proceeds to take off her own cloth diaper.

(By the way, we only use the word "nasty" to describe chicken poop when I'm telling her not to step in it in the backyard--she then started using the word to describe her own poops. This was a VERY ACCURATE description.)

This poop was not solid and the diaper was FULL. Gag-o-rama. But poop was also clinging to her butt and oozing down her thighs. And it SMELLED terrible. Gag. Gag. GAG.

So I drug my not-feeling-well self off the couch and picked up the disgusting diaper, trying not to dry-heave. I told Zuzu to come upstairs so she could get cleaned up.

Instead, she ran to the backdoor. Just to be naughty.

She can now reach the deadbolt, so we have to buy one of those childproof doorknob covers but that hasn't happened yet, which means that by the time I caught up with her, she was out on the patio, half naked and literally covered in shit.

Hello, neighbors!

I was not about to pick her up because then we BOTH would have been covered in poop, and I was already holding the revolting poopy diaper at arm's length. So I coaxed her back inside and up the stairs, promising "splish splash" time in the tub. She scurried upstairs and I trudged behind her, breathing through my mouth.

I decided to snap a picture of her hind-end to show David what I had to deal with while he was STILL AT WORK. I said something like, "Zuzu, please don't get that poop on the carpet." And she turned around, saw my phone, and posed like this with absolutely no prompting:

Sassy hand on the hip. Poopy butt blocked. You're welcome.
Clean-up required a shower because a bath would have been too disgusting. In fact, I still need to clean the tub when I get home today.

After bath, she didn't want to put a diaper on, and instead pulled these diaper covers out of her drawer and insisted on putting them on herself: "No, mine!" (This possessive covers a wide range of meanings, including "It's mine," "It's yours but I took it," "It's yours but I want it," and, "I'll do it myself!") The process kept her out of trouble for a few minutes, so I let her give it a go.

Hmm... Are both my legs supposed to be through the same leg hole?
I seem to feel a bit of a breeze on my backside...
To her credit, perseverance paid off and she finally got them on right:

This is right about the time David got home.  How convenient.  

Anyway, since she seems interested in putting on undies and not interested in carrying poop around in her pants, I'm hoping that I can get her excited about Big Girl Panties, and then we'll really be onto something... I'm keeping my expectations realistic, but it would be really awesome if she were out of diapers before Rerun joins in the pooping party.


  1. I am laughing my butt off while simultaneously feeling really terribly for you! That is way too much!

  2. I love that you texted that pic to David.

    Oh Zu, never a dull moment!

  3. My cloth diaper girl started wanting to use the toilet out of nowhere at about Zuzu's age... it was still a good six months before we fully gave up diapers, and we still have the odd accident here or there, but miracles can and do happen! Crossing fingers! Can't wait for Zuzu to be old enough to find that picture mortifying, bless her sweet heart! :D