There are some days when it seems like all I do is deal with shit. And I'm not using shit as a synonym for errands or listening to arguments or cleaning the kids' bathroom: I'm talking about poop/crap/fecal matter/shit. Between picking up the dog shit in the yard (or on bad days, in the house), five people in the house with fairly predictable digestive systems, the geese that have arrived with the spring weather and that one guy at Best Buy last week who smelled like he just crapped his pants, the topic of shit seems to come up several times a day. Or in the case of Zoe's life, it usually comes out around 1 o'clock in the afternoon, and that's where the drama begins.
I know plenty of kids that, before the age of six, occasionally have weird issues about taking a crap. Some kids are completely potty-trained, but refuse to poop in a toilet and insist on getting a diaper put on for the big show. I know one kid that would happily poop in a toilet, but would only do so if all of his clothes were removed -- shirt, socks, everything. Another girl would only crap if she could stand on the toilet seat and squat down because sitting for so long was uncomfortable. And if I had a dime for every time I heard the phrase "my kid is always constipated" and had invested heavily in Miralax, I wouldn't be thinking about how to someday monetize my blog.
Just when I thought that my days of having to deal with dung drama were over, Zoe decided to appoint me as her designated butt wiper. Wow, lucky me. The only thing I can compare this development to is the consumption of schnapps, and the theory that if you have one bad experience (like hurling), you never want to try it again. Similarly, since Zoe did a half-ass job of wiping her butt one time and then ended up with some pain and discomfort, she has decided that she will never wipe her own ass again. I know, it's pathetic.
I have to be honest and say that this glitch isn't entirely her fault. When you consider the fact that the gigantic toilet paper dispenser in any germ-infested public bathroom is about six-feet away from the toilet, and that the toilet paper has the same texture as 80-grit sandpaper, I haven't been overly eager about getting the toilet paper for her, handing it off, and then having her scrape all the skin off of her ass. It's moments like these when I'm sure that Cottonelle created those handy individually-wrapped pre-moistened butt wipes just for me and my need to wipe my daughter's ass.
Lately, when we're at home, I've been better about just walking in, handing her a wipe and making her do it herself. But even then I still have to hang around the bathroom door until she's done because unless I were to install a table right by the toilet, she can't reach the wipes.
I realize that this dilemma doesn't have the same level of drama as other people saying things like "my kid won't wear anything besides Superman pajamas to school" or "my ten-year-old will only eat Hot Pockets and Twinkies," but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person in the world saying: "I need to get my kid to wipe her own ass!"
3 comments:
you are in good company.
Hey, if I could convince somebody to wipe my ass for me, I'd jump on the opportunity too!
To wipe or not to wipe? That's the question. I've debated this many times. Maybe that's why I'm going crazy in the head. My middle child would have let me wipe her butt until she was was 10 if I hadn't told her "no way, no more"; and my youngest has insisted on doing the job herself since she was 3, leaving many a clogged toilet, soiled underwear and red crotch in her aftermath. I just don't know. Seriously... what did they do for dirty butts in the Middle Ages, before toilet paper, wet wipes, regular bathing and the invention of A&D? I bet there were girls with some serious itching going on under those corsets.
Post a Comment