Pardon my French but I just have to vent for a minute. I am soooooo fucking sick of diapers!!!! Phew, I feel better now. Wait, no I don’t. That didn’t help at all because tomorrow I’m still going to have to change my son’s diaper like 8,000 times again. Like today after nap I put him in a nice clean diaper and we were standing in the kitchen like five minutes later when he got that really weird look on his face— eyebrows knitted, eyes watering, red face, purple forehead vein sticking out— I knew exactly what he was doing. That little shit was shitting.
Oh wait, it gets worse. After I used every WWE move I ever saw on TV to pin him down to the changing table without pulling his damn shoulders out of their sockets, he did what he always does, he stuck both of his heels in the pupu platter. Are you F’ing kidding me? And since I accidentally left my gas mask in the other room, I had to breathe through my mouth the whole time which totally doesn’t work because then you just end up tasting the smell.
Oh, and there were only four wipes left in the container so I had to fold each wipe like 16 times to wipe as much poop as possible off his ass and his heels, which of course meant I got poop all over my hands so my hands smelled like doodie all day no matter how much I scrubbed the crap out of them with a brillo pad and Comet.
Sometimes I wonder about surgeons who are also moms. When they scrub each little finger with that special doctor soap, do their hands still smell like poop as they operate on some poor soul because doesn’t that mean the poop particles are still there? God I hope I never need surgery ‘ cause that’s what I’ll be thinking when they ask me to count backwards from ten. That and the fact that a roomful of people are seeing my naked body splayed out on the table like a buffet of pancakes and cottage cheese.
Anyways, what’s the F’ing point of this rant? Shit, I forget. No wait, I remember. After stripping out of my hazmat suit (Y2K was good for something!) I started to wonder. How young can I start potty-training my little poop machine because I am D-O-N-E with diapers? So I went to the internet to find out and I stumbled upon this. Elimination Communication.
Say what?!!! Have you heard of this shit? Pun totally intended. Elimination Communication is basically potty training your kid from day one. Yup, apparently all these crazy people (or maybe they’re fucking brilliant) start potty training their rug rats from the day they’re born. WTF? I could barely get my THREE-year-old to use the potty, and she still won’t unless she’s sitting on F’ing Cinderella or Belle. Hmm, maybe she’s a lesbian after all. Thank F’ing God because my husband is totally prepared to kill every boy who ever wants to date her. But I digress.
How in God’s name does someone train their newborn to use the potty when they’re still pooping out meconium? I’d probably just dangle them over the potty and hope something falls out, but apparently there’s some method to the madness.
Like timing. Supposedly babies have a natural rhythm to when they pee and poo, so if you pay attention you can figure out when to dangle them over the crapper. Well, I just changed my kid’s diaper like three seconds BEFORE he took a shit, so clearly that wouldn’t be my forte.
And signals. Like the way my kid’s head looks like it’s going to explode when he’s taking a dump. Key words—WHEN he’s taking a dump, as opposed to BEFORE he’s taking it. So basically when my kid looks like he’s having an aneurism, I’ll be bolting through the house holding him at an arm’s length trying to get him to the potty while leaving a turd trail behind us like fucking Hansel and Gretel.
And then there’s this method. Quite possibly my favorite. Cueing. Which I might add rhymes so nicely with pooing. Anyways, cueing is when you give your kid a little cue that it’s time for them to “go.” Like as soon as you’re dangling his nekked bum over the toilet you say something like “psss psss” if you want him to pee or grunt “unnh unnh” if you want him to poo. As far as I’m concerned, there are two problems with this:
- There is no way I could make these noises and keep a straight face. Call me Beavis or Butthead, but I’d be laughing my ass off every time I faked the grunting poo noise.
- Here’s what my kid would do. I’d psss psss and he’d pee like a good boy on the potty. Then one day many years from now he’d be sitting in the school library when a hot cheerleader would lean over and say psss to get his attention, and guess what he’d do. The kid would F’ing piss himself. He wouldn’t get the cheerleader, but I’ll tell you what he would get—some a-hole football player would leave a box of Depends in his locker. Plus, like years and years of teasing.
Okay then. Maybe this shit ain’t for us. So I guess it’s back to diaper changes tomorrow. Just don’t shake my hand if you meet me.
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