Two Things That Should NOT Go Together (Adventures in Poop, Vol. IV)

First trimester pregnancy and potty training.  Let me be more specific:  first trimester pregnancy and those potty chairs that require dumping of the matter into the actual toilet and then sanitizing (by. hand.) the pot.  My nemesis.  The Ell-Monster would prefer this little chamber pot (who knew I would ever have a use for this term in my for-real life?) because his feet touch, but selfish mommy has now hidden the insert for the chair because I.can't.handle.it.  I'm pretty much an awesome mom.

I may have mentioned these things not belonging together a time or two in previous blog posts, but I feel like I need to reiterate just in case anyone might be wondering.  I would not recommend it.  I could have written tonight about the amazing book I'm reading, birthday party adventures or even my craptastic day at work.  But somehow the lure of poop and pregnancy was calling again.

Adventures in Poop. Vol. II

Ell-Monster had a make-up gymnastics class yesterday evening.  Chris and I did a quick hand-off, where as soon as I walked in the door to take care of Brook-Brook, he loaded Ell up in the car and off they went.  Around 15 minutes later, I received a text from my dear husband saying,

Your son just informed me that he removed his diaper and is now going commando.

Sneaky little toot!  I mean we've been working on the potty-thing at home, but out?  No way in hell. . . . I mean, unless the parentals are pre-occupied with kid hand-off.  So yeah. . . that's how the E-Monster got to experience his first public toilet.  After the morning I had, I was glad for Daddy to take a hit.  Vengeful?  Maybe.  Fair?  Absolutely.

A Side of Poop in the Morning

Lemme tell ya a little tale. This morning, I was changing Brook-Brook's clothes when I hear Ell banging around in the kids' bathroom. I call for him--several times--and get no response. Finally he comes into B's room and I ask what he's been doing and if he made a mess? Yes, he says with a twinkle in his eyes. Then I notice that he's removed his diaper--I asked if he went poopy. "Yes," he says proudly, "Humprhey ate it." Gross. I walk into the bathroom and find the pot of the potty chair in the sink. Ell puffs out his chest and says, "I cwean up. I wash it wif soap."



And that is how one becomes obsessed with Clorox and Lysol--even when skeptical of the chemicals in all mass-produced cleaners--AND justifies a morning stop at Starbucks.  Too much to handle by 7:20 in the morning.  The end.