After picking up my two-year-old from preschool this morning, we decided to go to Target. (Sadly, when I say, “We’re going to Target now,” he yips with joy and chants, “YAY TARGET!”) I needed to pick up some sippy cups, because no, Teacher Lady, we don’t do the big boy cups a.k.a. Flying Glass Projectile Objects.
Target was uneventful. I went in needing sippy cups, and left with new tub toys (Rubber Ducky recently met its maker because it smelled like crotch rot), Teensy Fruits (don’t ask), two Matchbox cars, and several boxes of microwavable bacon. After narrowly dodging a collision with a questionably abled Target branded motorized wheelchair riding dude, we were on our way home.
As we zoomed along to the sound of Theo singing I’m wollin’ in the deeeeeee-EEEYUP and the wha-whump, wha-whump of a plastic truck careening down the length of the mini-van and back again, I asked Theo if he had pooped in preschool that morning.
Yup! Nope! Poop! Yes! Nope! Poop! I want a baffffffff!
Back home we put everything away and prepped for bath time.
Hands over head, shirt off.
Round, round belly.
Wiggle, wiggle, jiggle.
Diaper and pants off.
Two sweaty socks.
A shoe filled with sand.
It had definitely been a sandbox morning.
We went upstairs and filled the tub with water and bubbles.
New bath toys were bobbing, Theo was happily filling cups with water and pouring the water back over the faucet.
So, Theo, you know that if you need to make a poop, you need to tell Mama that it’s coming and we’ll hop on over to the toilet, okay?
Yep, yep! Hop over to toilet if poop comes. Okay!
A few minutes passed and I reminded him again.
He played with a penguin cup, a fish cup and a starfish toy. Poured bubbles from penguin cup to fish cup. Dove fish cup through tall peaks of bubbles. Made bubble mustaches.
Mama, where starfish? Where starfish? STARFISH!!!
I plunged my hand into the warm water and groped around the various cups that were hidden under the thick foam.
No, that’s not the starfish. Not that either.
We’ll find it, don’t worry! I crooned.
Hey, what’s this I feel?
Did I leave a sponge in here?
No, no, no.
Holy man sized shit.
This is not a sponge.
GET OUT OF THE TUB!
Theo was dripping and shivery. Trying not to gag I flipped the drain and turned to get him dressed. After a few minutes I looked back at the tub, it was not draining. I approached but couldn’t see the drain so I splashed around the bubbles and cleared a spot.
There, staring right up at me, was a gigantic brown turd standing end to end in the drain. Two inches of poop sticking straight up. (How did a child his size produce this fecal monstrosity?)
I took the kitty litter scoop and pulled out what I could and flushed it. But the water was still not draining. There was still a poop plug.
Desperate, I looked around my daughter’s bedroom. I needed a pencil, but I couldn’t find one and didn’t want to leave Theo alone upstairs.
But then, in the middle of a mosh pit of stuffed animals I spied a long skinny plastic leg with a red high-heel hooker boot attached.
I popped off the foot of the Bratz Doll and set to work in the bathroom. Her footless leg was the perfect size to ground that poop down and through the drain. Soon the water had cleared and I could clean the tub without fear of excessive fecal hazard.
After a hearty thank you for her creative genius, Miss Sasha Sunshine Shalom Barbara Bratz Doll found a new plastic condo in the side yard and all was well in the bathtub once more.