Now that school is back in session, I have been back to giving my kids nightly baths.
Don’t gasp at me, lady with clean kids. The pool or sprinkler count as a bath in the summer.
Anywho, a few nights ago, I needed to place my grungy little two year old in the tub for a nice soak. He had been playing outside and there was mud under his nails and dirt on his face.
I said, “Cy Cy, it’s bath time!” And his fat little legs ran/toddled to the bathroom to prepare for some splashing that would inevitably end in me drying the entire bathroom while yelling at him to stop.
I turned on the water and got him undressed. His fat little hands left tiny little mud prints on the ledge of the tub while he was waiting for it to fill up.
I placed him in the tub and the water almost instantly turned gray. Gross.
He looked at me and asked for bubbles, which to you would probably sound like NSHFFIENDYDJBKELLLLS. But I’m his mom and I understand the majority of his babbling.
I looked at the nasty gray water with dirt specks in it and thought, bubbles it is. The more soap the better, right?
I poured in the bubbles and he played and played. I just let him soak, hoping it would make scrubbing the mud out of his nails easier later on.
I sat in the bathroom, partially singing songs and talking to him and partially reading about some sort of trashy Bachelor drama on my phone because, let’s be honest, we all do it.
My boys think farting is hilarious. All boys think farting is hilarious. My 35 year old husband still thinks farting is hilarious.
So when I heard Simon toot and he laughed because it made more bubbles, I thought nothing of it and decided to investigate deeper into whether Hannah B. and Alan would actually fall in love on Dancing with the Stars.
About five minutes later, I put my phone down and let little man know it was time for a scrub. I reached my hand into the water to grab the bathtub water pouring cup.
Ours is a keepsake refillable cup from the Louisville Zoo. We paid $28 for the cup with unlimited refills and damnit, I’m getting my money’s worth.
We started with the hair to get the worst part over. I scrubbed his head and had to tell him 19 times to tilt his head BACK NOT FORWARD and he still got water in his eyes and tears and gasping for air and all the dramatics because he is my child.
As I’m pep talking him for the face wash, I see a brown object in between the fading tub bubbles. I did a double take and realized that this entire time THERE WAS A HUGE TURD IN THE TUB.
MY CHILD WAS BATHING IN HIS OWN POO WHILE I READ ABOUT DANCING WITH THE STARS ON MY PHONE. SWEET BABY JESUS I AM THE WORST MOTHER EVER.
When he laughed about that toot, it was more than a toot. It was a poo. Luckily a solid one.
I screamed like any normal mom would do after realizing their kid was bathing next to a large piece of poop and grabbed him out of the tub as fast as I could.
I yelled, “Omg Logan, THERE’S POOP IN THE TUB!” to my husband who didn’t hear me all the way and was wondering why on earth I was freaking out.
I dried Simon off in his bedroom, like keeping him far away from the poo now was going to make a difference. I slapped a diaper on him and headed back to the bathroom to take care of the situation at hand.
I plunged my hand into the murky water and pulled the plug, praying that when the water drained, the poo would have magically disappeared.
But no, 54 seconds later, one big ass lonely turd was laying in the deserted tub, next to all 84 bath toys my kids play with.
I’ll spare you the cleaning details, but no worries, it did get cleaned.
So this is just a warning to everyone I’ve ever known or met or randomly stumbles across my blog, if your kid toots in the bubble bath, make sure they didn’t poo as well. Bubbles hide it very well.
Until Next Time,