You know, just like a normal person does. First I set everyone up with breakfast shake and bowls of oatmeal. Super Why was on PBS and it’s Chicken Little’s favorite show with animation compelling enough to engage Toddler for short periods. It was foolproof.
I ran in the bathroom and jumped in the shower, closing the door enough to block the drafts but not any sounds of loud crying. Sixty seconds later Chicken Little burst in. “Mommy, did you know that P rhymes with T?” he shouted excitedly. Yes, actually, I did. “And they both rhyme with C?” Wow, now that I didn’t know. “Why don’t you go see what else you’re missing?” I said “And don’t forget to close the door just like it was when you came in.” By now all my warm air was gone.
Thirty seconds later he was back. “Mama, I need you to help me take my shirt off, I have to go POOP!” he sang. I reached out of the shower curtain to help with the shirt. My son is as quirky as a Seinfeld character. For some reason he can’t sit on the potty with a shirt on and he hasn’t yet mastered quick shirt removal.
Ten seconds later I heard a low “uh oh” almost under his breath. “Mama, something just fell in the potty” he said slowly. Cautiously I asked “what was it?”, trying to decide if I really needed to get out with shampoo still in my hair. “It might have been a toy” he said. “I thought the rule was you don’t play with your toys on the potty” I reminded him, thinking of the time I had to reach my hand into a full bowl to fish out a Playmobil person.
“Well it wasn’t my toy,” he told me “so I thought it would be ok. It was Ben’s airplane.” (I’ve changed names to protect the innocent, and also in case Ben is reading this post.) Realizing the airplane would be too big to be flushed I climbed out of my nice warm shower - shivering, shampooey and still hopeful that the airplane was at this point the only thing in the potty.
But it wasn’t. Now I’ve had my share of experiences doing hand-to-hand combat with poop, Chicken Little having been a notorious tub pooper. However, on this particular morning I was finding it difficult. I closed my eyes and plunged my hand in. Luckily it landed on the toy and nothing else. I threw the toy into the sink and began scrubbing my hand and forearm furiously. The toy I would bleach later.
I helped Chicken Little finish up and get dressed but by then all the commotion had attracted Toddler’s attention. I tried to slink back into the shower but I’d been spotted. By the time I had rinsed the shampoo out of my hair the toddler had hurled at least 3 books, 2 stuffed animals and all his and his brother’s blankies in with me, not to mention that the bathroom floor and Toddler were completely soaked.
I gave up any dreams of shaving my legs, exfoliating or conditioning my hair. Ah yes, a quick shower. Just like a normal person. A mom can dream, can’t she?