How My Son Got Poop on His Face

Potty training. It’s not for the chicken-hearted. I’ll gladly sit through a screaming toddler’s haircut or give a teenager driving lessons but please don’t send me into the bathroom with a two year-old to coach him through a bowel movement.

The awful irony about Hudson is that he hates to have a poopy butt yet doesn’t want to go in the potty. When he feels the urge coming on he finds a private spot. Sometimes it’s in the game room or the kitchen. Sometimes it’s behind the couch. You can hear him grunting and you just know he’s pooping. When I ask, “Hudson, are you going poo-poo?” he yells back, “Go away!” Then I try to coax him out with, “Don’t you want to go in the potty like a big boy?” No response.

(I know, I know. I could forcibly set him on the toilet but I’m trying not to make the potty training process traumatic. Plus, Hudson always seems to go Number Two when I’m making dinner or feeding Jolie or doing anything that’s hard to walk away from, as if he plans his bowel movements like secret operative missions.)

As soon as he’s finished doing his business in his hiding place he strips off his shorts. Then he’ll come out walking with his legs apart like he’s straddling a horse. “Mommy, I’m poopy,” he’ll say regretfully, like it was an unexpected, unavoidable accident. Then I clean him up and change him. That’s the best case scenario. It can go worse.

Like the other night…

I was feeding and rocking Jolie. Lucas and Madison finished washing the cars in the driveway and were going to take Hudson swimming. While I was distracted with the baby and Lucas and Madison changed into swimsuits, Hudson sneaked off to the hallway to make a quick poo. Afterwards, he stripped off his shorts and his diaper. (They don’t make the adhesive on that tape strong enough, do they?) He dropped his diapey on the floor, scattering poop balls.

Poop balls. On the floor. Seriously, how does Hudson’s poop come out in perfectly formed brown balls like Whoppers?


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His yucky business complete, Hudson was making his way back to the living room when he felt kind of “sticky” so he wiped his butt with his hands. He wiped his butt. With his hands. Then, in a fateful coincidence, he got an itch on his face. So he scratched it. With poopy fingers.

He came in the room, riding that ghost horse, arms outstretched like Frankenstein, and said, “Daddy, I’m poopy.”

Lucas sprang into action. Madison, who always walks into a room with impeccable timing, noticed her half naked brother’s awkward gait and the brown smears on his face and you can literally read in her face that she’s making the horrible realization. “Wait, is… is that… that’s not chocolate?”

“Nope, ” Lucas confirmed, going to work on Hudson with baby wipes.

“Ewww!” Madison ran out of the living room like she was escaping a burning building.

Once he had wiped the yuck off Hudson, Lucas went back to the scene of the crime to clean-up the poop balls. Eventually, the three of them made it to the pool.

Wow. I just wrote an entire post about poop. If this wasn’t a mommyblog before it sure is now.

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