I know what you are thinking, how many poop and barf stories could I possibly have. Or perhaps you’re wondering why I would want to post them online. Well misery loves company, my friend. This is a cautionary tale because I feel that I brought on “the incident” by my own arrogance. I taunted the poop gods. So read on lest you commit the same error.
When Chicken Little was about 8 months old I hired a college student to come and watch him for a few hours a week, in part so that I could work on my website but the real reason was to avoid eating him out of frustration. It was a much deserved break.
One day I was chatting with Stacy and she told me that when she was a baby she used to poop in the tub. I told her that Chicken Little had never once done that. I laughed, nay, scoffed at the very idea. I kid you not, that very night he did it.
Horrified, I looked around and found nothing I could use to scoop it out with. The trick with scooping poop out of water is that you need to do it quickly before it begins to disintegrate. In a panic, I used my bare hands. I scrubbed them, the baby and the bathtub clean after that.
The next night he did it again. The third night I brought a yogurt container in and sure enough he did it again. Chicken Little continued his little practice well into toddlerhood. At one point I bought a fish net to keep in the bucket with the toilet brush.
Since then I’ve learned not to say my kids “never do that” aloud. I don’t even spell it out for someone. I never thought I would be superstitious. I never thought I would be a lot of things. But then I had Chicken Little, notorious tub pooper and very nearly only child.