The P word

It wouldn't be a blog about boys if we didn't talk about it. No, I don't mean penis. We've already discussed that. I'm talking about the four-letter word that is the bain of my existence.

POOP.

Yes, people, it's on my mind. Why? Because that is what my night was all about.

Around 9pm, both Henry and Drew started coming out of their bedroom at various times to use the bathroom. Around 10, while I was finishing up some work, Drew came out again and told me his tummy hurt. He said he had to poop. So he went to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet for a while. A few minutes later, he said, "false alarm," and went back to bed. Fine, okay, but I knew that this was just the beginning of what could turn into a long night.

Around 10:10, he came out of their room yet again, but this time he was doing his hyperventilating poop dance. "I have to go poo-poo, I HAVE TO GO POO-POO!" "Okay, buddy, go sit on the toilet." He did, whining a little bit, but sitting patiently nonetheless.

Ten minutes later, his brother ran out of their bedroom screaming, "I HAVE TO GO POO-POOOOO! I HAVE TO GOOOOOOO!" "Alright, let's use Mommy's bathroom because your brother is in yours, but where is the other potty seat?" UGH. I sat on the tub and held Henry on the toilet to make sure he didn't fall in. Meanwhile, Drew was in the other bathroom, wanting me there for moral support. "Sorry, buddy, I can't. Henry might fall in the toilet!" Henry, who was whining, crying and screaming a little bit, assured me that he was going to poop. Knowing him, I understood that this could mean now or at midnight. Fortunately, I figured out a way to get him to touch his toes while his feet were firmly planted on a little step stool, so he wouldn't fall into the toilet. This way, I could go check on Drew. I peeked into the boys' bathroom and Drew was fine, still patiently waiting for his sphincter and gravity to take control. Henry then called out to me, "Mommy! MOMMY! I NEED YOU!" "Coming, buddy. Are you sure you're going to poop?"

I admit, I'm a briber. In fact, I regularly bribe my kids to poop. "If you poop, I'll take you to Chuck E. Cheese. If you poop, I'll buy you Thomas' Misty Island Adventure. If you poop, I'll take you to Starbucks." Tonight, I told Henry, "if you poop, I will make muffins for breakfast." It was like I offered him a trip to Disney World. He looked up at me, smiled and started, in earnest, to push, making a face like 'it's poop or bust!'

Around 10:40, Drew called out to let me know he pooped. Success! One down, one to go. I attended to him (at what age will he start wiping himself, by the way?), we washed our hands and he went off to bed. The phone rang. It was Jeff, checking in. Henry summoned me, so I brought the phone into my bathroom so Jeff could give Henry a little poop pep talk. Henry spoke with his dad until his talking became hampered by his pushing. Two minutes after hanging up with Jeff...PLOP! Yes! Thank god! Happy Henry knew he was getting muffins for breakfast. We washed our hands and I brought him back to their room and tuck both of my little poopers in.

It's true that it wasn't one of our epic nights of poop that lasted into the early morning hours. In fact, from start to finish, it took less than an hour. Still, it wasn't easy. It rarely ever is. What made tonight difficult is that both kids had to poop at the same time, both have been having a hard time pooping lately, I was missing a potty seat and it is the fourth night in a row that I've taken care of the kids by myself. [(Work + cleaning + making dinner + bath + dishes + putting away the toys + more work) x four nights] + poop + muffin making. Given these circumstances, I think I've earned the right to say that I'm officially pooped.