Poopy in the potty

My kids are all different.  Different mannerisms, different personalities, and hell… even different skin color.  I guess that it’s pretty common for kids to be different in various ways.  One weird thing that I find to be the most different amongst my 3 kids is their poopy potty time.  Gross right?  I’m sure you’re asking why I would even talk about this.  Well, I needed to start writing again and I thought this topic would be funny.  Proceed with caution 

If there is one topic of discussion that comes up often with parents of young kids, it’s the topic of baby shit.  Everyone has a story to share, whether it be funny or horrifying, but we parents all have baby shit stories to tell.  And as parents we keep them in our hip pocket like a damn quick draw waiting around a saloon in the event another parent wants to start swapping stories.  For some dumb ass reason we think it’s so cute and adorable to talk about our kids little baby poops, and it is to a certain extent, but what happens when they are no longer babies?  What happens when that cute little ham bone starts growing up, and those little baby poops turn into straight up thumper dumpers?  That’s the point when cute little baby stories turn into eye watering, throat gagging, dry heaving stories which are usually relegated to be told by dad.  So, enjoy. 

I have shared some of these types of stories about my kids over the years, but today things are going to be a little different.  Today we are going to be discussing their techniques, yes technique.  We are going to talk about the subtle art of how my kids actually drop their stink pickles.  As adults we don’t have time to be sophisticated about how we bust a grumpy, so I thought it would be fun to highlight the simple beauty of how a much younger generation drops their brown potatoes in the crock pot.  

The oldest, he is 9.  I’ll be honest, this little fucker was doomed from the beginning.  He was the first child, and by unwritten laws of the first born, he had to be babied and pampered and coddled by every fucking body (except me).  My son started off like any other baby with the cute little poops that we would look at and smile, like all first time parents do.  Unfortunately all kids grow up and a short time after he started walking, things changed.  He now liked to hide when it was time to make his butt burrito, so we would usually find him behind a chair in our living room all red faced on the verge of blowing out an O ring trying to push out his chocolate bum slug.  Props to Pampers for being able to contain that Hershey highway monkey tail.  As we transitioned to teaching him how to go poo poo in the potty my wife thought it would be a good idea to take all his clothes off and put him on the toilet backwards where he was facing the back of the toilet. I mean this is what all the experts were touting so why not?  To be fair, this worked perfectly.  My dude was liberating the brown trout with ease and rapidly transitioning out of diapers.  Amazing right?  Wrong.  What we didn’t anticipate is my now grown ass 9 year old son STILL getting butt ass naked and sitting backwards on the toilet to drop his biscuits in the basket.  Seriously, I walked in on him the other day naked as a Jay bird sitting backwards on the toilet straining his ass off yelling “privacy please”.  Luckily, I shut the door before I saw that thing crowning.  Like I said, this poor bastard is doomed unless he can figure it out. I hate to imagine him as a grown ass man still sitting backwards on the toilet, but he will walk the path he chooses. (I also find it funny that someone is going to read this and be like ‘Is that not the right way to release the prairie dogs”)

The middle, she is 6.  I would bet you serious money that she would make one hell of an international spy.  Code Name: Silent Stinkbowl.  She does not keep with a schedule for her bowel movements, they can come at any time, and you would never know that a porcelain paradise was just murdered. She moves like the wind and keeps to the shadows when she is freeing the hostages.  The only reason we know that she goes to the bathroom at all is because she always leaves her signature calling card… a fucking 6 foot toilet python that is cresting the water line like it’s ready to strike. The kid never fucking flushes.  It’s fucking infuriating.  Especially when you get a few minutes to yourself, and you want to take the Browns to the Super Bowl… you open the door to the bathroom and are immediately hit with the sight and smell of what can only be described as what I could imagine are the leftovers from a Chupacabra’s dinner after it threw it back up.  It always just makes me wonder how this little beautify god’s gift can exercise the demons to the point where I want to repent for my own damn sins.  Damn! 

The youngest, she is 2.  I find it funny that the worst of my 3 kids, and I do mean the fucking worst, is actually the most normal out of all of my kids when it comes to making butt babies.  Although to achieve this  normalness, there are a few caveats that must be met first.  The main and most annoying one is that she must be accompanied, by daddy.  “What do you mean by that?” you say.  Well that means that sometimes daddy has to sit on a little stool in front of her and hold both her hands while looking deep into her eyes as she calls in a Code Brown (sometimes code green).  It’s fucking intimidating is what it is.  Also If you try to look away, she calls you back like she is the Somali pirate from the  movie ‘Captain Phillips’… “look at me, I’m the captain now.” and you can’t do shit but accept it.  I am also not allowed to say a word which I am assuming is a concentration thing for her.  So imagine me sitting there on a stool, in the bathroom, holding hands with a 2 year old like we are about to start singing ‘ring around the rosie’, and not being allowed to look away or say a word.  It’s funny because the worst part is not that I have to sit in the bathroom with her, oh no… the worst part is what I hear while sitting in that bathroom with her.  Shall I describe?  I shall.  Think fresh prepackaged tube of cookie dough, chocolate chip. Now cut one end of the cookie dough open and slowly squeeze it out about 2 feet above a cooking sheet. The squeeze and the slap are sounds I honestly find hard to shake. I’ll say this, hearing Shamu jump his fat ass out the water and slap his body back on the surface has never sounded the same after this little girl. I’m getting the 1000 yard stare just thinking about it. 

Like I said, we parents all have our own horror stories and these were a few of mine.  But next time you go to drop rumply grumpler, take a moment to remember the innocence of a child and try something new.