The other day my two-year-old was screaming her head off in the grocery store, and while most of the shoppers were kind enough just to stab me with their eye daggers, there was one who actually took pity on me and asked, “Is she having a bad day?”
Here’s how I wanted to answer— “No shit, fucking dipshit.”
My actual answer to this brilliant sleuth— “She’s two. She’s having a bad year.”
Of course, there are some things I’m looking forward to this year. Like potty training. Well, I’m not exactly looking forward to the training itself, but I am looking forward to NO MORE DIAPERS! I can remember exactly when my deep hatred for diapers started.
It was just a month after Zoey was born when a friend came to visit us with her own diaper-clad son. We were having a lovely time in the living room when the boy snuck behind a chair to “get a little privacy.” Naturally I invited my friend to change him on my newborn’s changing table in the bedroom, and she accepted. All seemed normal until after she left and I retired to the bedroom to change my own daughter.
“Honey!” I called to my husband in the living room. “I’ll wash the dishes tonight if you clean up what’s on the wall.”
My husband, who literally rolls down the car window when he sneezes because he’s so afraid of germs, approached the room completely terrified of what I had discovered. And he had every right to be.
There it was on the wall. Two inches long— although when my husband tells the story today, it has grown to at least twelve inches—a big chunky streak of poo. And just in case you don’t have a child or you’re Donald Trump and have never changed your baby’s diaper, newborns do not poo like that. This was clearly my friend’s son’s poo. Now I’m sure she didn’t know about it, or she would have tried to wipe it off and it wouldn’t have been so three-dimensional. A bottle of 409 and a Hazmat team later, I was dangling my month-old daughter over the toilet coaxing her to be a potty training prodigy. No such luck.
So as soon she turned two, we began the torturous process. A couple of weeks ago, she tooted on the potty and asked me if I could see the toot in there. Uhh, clearly not getting it yet. Then, when she finally pooped successfully she looked into the potty and exclaimed, “Cookies!” Apparently, what goes in must come out and then go in again. Disgusting. And oh yeah, after all that she’s decided she wants nothing to do with her potty, leaving me with no choice but to continue with diapers until after the new baby comes along. A toddler and a newborn in diapers. Lucky me.
Side note, I apologize if there’s any blood splatter on this blog. My lovely two-year-old has been in bed screaming for over an hour now, so I just cut my ears off. I’m thinking about pulling a Van Gogh and sending them to my husband who’s downtown at a bachelor party tonight. I just want to make sure he knows how much I’m missing him, and how much he owes me when he gets back.