So I can honestly say that NEITHER of my twins has ever...er...let's say...defecated in the tub before. They've always waited to go in their diapers. I guess they get that kind of control from their mommy, who is capital A hyphen capital R (that's Anal-Retentive for the rest of you). They know that the "big people" go to the bathroom in the toilet. The "babies" go to the bathroom in their diapers. This is the way of the world. It is finite and immovable. But I regret to report that last night, the unforgivable happened...
I'm in the kitchen, doing dishes. DH has the babies in the bathtub. I hear giggling, splashing, everything you expect to hear in this situation. But then...horror. Total silence, followed by shrieking and screaming, the likes of which make you assume that someone has lost a body part…or worse. I run into the bathroom, fearing the worst. I see *A standing up, SCREAMING for all she is worth. I mean the kind of screaming you associate with a no-name actress in a really bad b-level horror flick who has just discovered she has to run UPSTAIRS to get away from the deranged, deformed serial killer with a chainsaw. B is standing next to her, staring behind *A and yelling, “No! No!! NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!” DH is bending over the bathtub, staring behind *A, saying in that hushed, I’m-trying-to-keep-from-losing-it voice, “It’s OK, honey, it’s OK.” Oh know…please dear God don’t let me have to go to the hospital tonight…at least don’t require an ambulance for this one…
I take a deep, shaky breath, and say, “What’s wrong.” B looks me right in the eye, squares her shoulders, and howls, “POOOOOOOOOOP! *A POOOOOOP!” I look at DH for confirmation. He shrugs. Poop? Really? We’re causing drama over poop? I bent over *A, hugging her rigid, screaming form as I looked behind her. Is it bloody? Unstoppable? Nope…just a little corn. Huh…when did she have corn…oh wait, sorry. I look at DH, and say in a hushed tone, “Are we screaming over a bit of poop?”
He looks as nonplussed as I am. I realize that the reaction is COMPLETELY disproportionate to the action, so I turn to B and say, “ENOUGH!” B gets quiet instantly. But *A, oh no…this is unforgivable. She has committed an egregious sin. This cannot simply be drained away and cloroxed over. No, this must be atoned for, and in the proper way – by howling with rage at the pitiless universe which allowed such horror to occur.
We took them out of the bathtub, drained and cleaned it, and refilled the tub. *A finally stops screaming, but is definitely upset. I tell them, “It’s OK, sweetie, accidents happen, and we love you.” B keeps saying, “*A poop. *A poop.” “B,” I say sternly, “That’s enough.” I tell *A, “When you do something on accident, you say ‘Sorry.’” *A turns to B, and says dejectedly, “Sorry B.” B hugs *A and says, “It OK…you poop…*A poop.” She turns to me, and says, "*A poop, mommy." How do I explain to a 2 year old to LET IT GO?!?!?
Tub cleaned and refilled, we go to put the girls back in. The horror returns. “NOOOOOOOOO!! POOOOOOOP!” cries B. *A resumes screaming. I take them to the tub. “Look, all gone!” B takes a moment, looks down at the clean, pristine water, and says, “No poop. OK.” In she goes. *A refuses. She’s outraged. We brought her to the scene of the crime. How could we do this? Needless to say, it was a VERY quick bath (did I mention she’s more deathly upset by showers? Yeah, you didn’t know there was a another level of intensity they could reach, did you?) They went to bed, but had nightmares all night. A lot of “NO!” and “Go ‘way!” I’m not sure if I’d want to know if they could explain…
I’m going to bathe them in swim diapers from now on…
*A = one of the twins, but I don’t use their names on the internet. As I read the story, I realized how easy it would be to confuse "A" as a name abbreviation with "A" as an article of speech.
I'm in the kitchen, doing dishes. DH has the babies in the bathtub. I hear giggling, splashing, everything you expect to hear in this situation. But then...horror. Total silence, followed by shrieking and screaming, the likes of which make you assume that someone has lost a body part…or worse. I run into the bathroom, fearing the worst. I see *A standing up, SCREAMING for all she is worth. I mean the kind of screaming you associate with a no-name actress in a really bad b-level horror flick who has just discovered she has to run UPSTAIRS to get away from the deranged, deformed serial killer with a chainsaw. B is standing next to her, staring behind *A and yelling, “No! No!! NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!” DH is bending over the bathtub, staring behind *A, saying in that hushed, I’m-trying-to-keep-from-losing-it voice, “It’s OK, honey, it’s OK.” Oh know…please dear God don’t let me have to go to the hospital tonight…at least don’t require an ambulance for this one…
I take a deep, shaky breath, and say, “What’s wrong.” B looks me right in the eye, squares her shoulders, and howls, “POOOOOOOOOOP! *A POOOOOOP!” I look at DH for confirmation. He shrugs. Poop? Really? We’re causing drama over poop? I bent over *A, hugging her rigid, screaming form as I looked behind her. Is it bloody? Unstoppable? Nope…just a little corn. Huh…when did she have corn…oh wait, sorry. I look at DH, and say in a hushed tone, “Are we screaming over a bit of poop?”
He looks as nonplussed as I am. I realize that the reaction is COMPLETELY disproportionate to the action, so I turn to B and say, “ENOUGH!” B gets quiet instantly. But *A, oh no…this is unforgivable. She has committed an egregious sin. This cannot simply be drained away and cloroxed over. No, this must be atoned for, and in the proper way – by howling with rage at the pitiless universe which allowed such horror to occur.
We took them out of the bathtub, drained and cleaned it, and refilled the tub. *A finally stops screaming, but is definitely upset. I tell them, “It’s OK, sweetie, accidents happen, and we love you.” B keeps saying, “*A poop. *A poop.” “B,” I say sternly, “That’s enough.” I tell *A, “When you do something on accident, you say ‘Sorry.’” *A turns to B, and says dejectedly, “Sorry B.” B hugs *A and says, “It OK…you poop…*A poop.” She turns to me, and says, "*A poop, mommy." How do I explain to a 2 year old to LET IT GO?!?!?
Tub cleaned and refilled, we go to put the girls back in. The horror returns. “NOOOOOOOOO!! POOOOOOOP!” cries B. *A resumes screaming. I take them to the tub. “Look, all gone!” B takes a moment, looks down at the clean, pristine water, and says, “No poop. OK.” In she goes. *A refuses. She’s outraged. We brought her to the scene of the crime. How could we do this? Needless to say, it was a VERY quick bath (did I mention she’s more deathly upset by showers? Yeah, you didn’t know there was a another level of intensity they could reach, did you?) They went to bed, but had nightmares all night. A lot of “NO!” and “Go ‘way!” I’m not sure if I’d want to know if they could explain…
I’m going to bathe them in swim diapers from now on…
*A = one of the twins, but I don’t use their names on the internet. As I read the story, I realized how easy it would be to confuse "A" as a name abbreviation with "A" as an article of speech.
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