So, it finally happened.
I guess I should consider myself lucky that in my entire career as a mom (all six years) that neither of my kids ever pooped in the tub.
Well, that winning streak ended tonight.
Lily, my six year old, and Jackson, my two year old were happily playing “animal mommies” with little plastic animals in the tub. I was brushing my teeth and turned away for just a moment when Lily shrieked in half-horror/half-delight.
My daughter adores potty-humor. In fact, I dare say she lives for it. It’s actually somewhat of an issue in our house — but that’s another story.
“Maaaa! There’s brown stuff! There’s… there’s… POOP in the tub!” She got out of the tub as quickly as she could, laughing hysterically while also clearly disgusted.
“Jackson, how could you!” she laughed.
I hurried to pick Jackson up out of the tub, but wanted to wipe off his left foot first, for reasons you can probably surmise. He seemed dazed for a moment. Then he looked at his foot (the only part of his body that seemed to have touched the poop) and freaked out.
“Aaa! Aaa! Need… napkin… need to get out! Need to wipe off! Ucky! Ucky!” he cried.
My little guy despises anything gross. He has a aversion to anything “ucky,” including sock lint, crumbs, food on his sleeves, you name it. Poop on his own foot is basically his nightmare.
But apparently it was my daughter’s dream come true. As I scurried around the bathroom for baby wipes and bathroom cleaner, Lily ran around in circles, dancing, and shouting gleefully. She was celebrating. “Jackson pooped in the tub! Can you believe it Mom? Can you! He pooped right in the tub!”
Later, when everything finally calmed down, and everything was cleaned up, and Jackson was asleep, and Lily had finished her bedtime stories, I leaned in to give Lily one last kiss goodnight.
She grinned. “Mommy,” she whispered. I sighed. I knew what she was going to say, one last time.
“Jackson pooped in the tub!”