Even though I read several books (“read” may be aggressive—I at least skimmed the inside cover of each) as well as dozens of blog posts on potty training, nothing could have prepared me for the real thing.
There were several times I felt like calling it quits and selling my child to the zoo. Like when he looked me in the eye and peed all over his indoor trampoline. Or when he dumped the contents of his training toilet into the baby’s bathtub. Or when he dropped a big ole’ deuce in the backyard. Yes. That happened. And it may or may not have cost me a friendship.
My friend and I were enjoying our lunch when my spidey-mom senses began to tingle. It was quiet—too quiet. I scanned the backyard, and the toddler was nowhere to be found. It had now been more than five hours since he had used the restroom (or “eliminated” in crunchy mom speak).
I opened the door and power walked to the corner of the backyard I couldn’t see from the kitchen door, and there he was—bare cheeks and all—standing with a cheesy grin plastered on his face.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I pooped!” He proudly declared, loud enough for the neighbors and my childless soon-to-be former friend to hear.
Then he marched over to a fresh pile of poo and pointed.
It was then that I knew my friend would never look at me and my parenting abilities the same way again. As I brought the toddler inside after rinsing him off with the water hose, I could see something in her eye—either fear or horror, probably both. But it’s okay, because when she has kids and they poop in the backyard, she will have a friend (and drinking buddy) in me.
Carrie Taylor is a freelance writer and mother of two.
