 |
| A text I sent my husband today |
 |
| His reply |
Today, I survived the Great Poopacalypse of 2014.
My three year old girl has been struggling with constipation off and on for months now, probably since early Spring. If anything, it shows me that one character trait this girl has is steadfast determination. She simply will not poop. She will hold it and hold and hold it. Her 'tell' is holding up the seat of her pants. When she start tugging up those pants, I know she needs to go and is fighting it.
"I can tell you need to go potty."
"No I don't, I am just holding up my pants so they don't fall down."
"It is time to sit on the potty. There is poop in there that needs to come out."
"No there is not. My poopy is in Reese's tummy. It hasn't come home to my tummy yet. It's just not in there."
"You need to try to go to the potty."
"MY BOD-YYYYY IS NOT TELLLLLL-LING ME!"
"Well, I am your Mommy and sometimes your body talks to me. It is telling me you need to go."
"No IT isn't!"
"You are getting on this potty. Right. Now." (as I struggle to sit her on the potty and her body goes straight as a board)
"You're tight-ing me up! Let me go! I gotta get out of this place! You are squriming me!"
"Sit on the potty and I will count to ten and we will see if anything comes out."
"I want to count onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. Noth-thing! Noth-thing!"
"Come on, you are sitting on the potty."
"I I I I I I CAAAAAANNNNN'TTTT!" ( Have you seen Frozen? I blame this one on Elsa.)
"Your job today is to poop. OK? It is a very important job. It is healthy and we want you to be healthy and strong."
"Please stop talking to me. Don't talk about poop anymore."
It goes on and on. Wednesday night I was at my wits end. She was miserable. She gets so mean and irritable and I don't blame her. I would be too. I got desperate and gave her the dreaded "bum medicine" aka glycerin suppository. This took an hour. An hour of begging, pleading, negotiating...from me. I was willing to give her anything. I was armed with the iPad cued up to YouTube, my phone, toe nail polish...promises of Safe-T-Pops, ice cream with M&M's on top, anything she would want. It was terrible. She cried until she was hoarse. I was finally able to do it with my husband's assistance. I wanted to cry too. It was horrible and she was mad at me. The kicker, it didn't work. This isn't the first time this has happened. From talking to the pediatrician's office I knew what we had to do. Clean her out so she starts at zero and it isn't hard for her to go again. So the next day she got loaded up with Miralax. She didn't go. She should have been re-enacting the bathroom scene from Dumb and Dumber at this point, but she didn't go.
Today was the Thanksgiving lunch at her school. I was fortunate enough to attend. I get there and she is on the playground, pacing around in circles, tugging at her pants. I looked at her teacher and she shook her head no. We sat down to eat and she could barely sit in her chair. She kept getting up, tugging her pants up, and saying she wanted to go home. I decided to take her home with me. I could tell she was miserable. I got her home and into a Pull Up. I tried to get her to take a nap but she was too squirmy and uncomfortable, but still insisted that she didn't need to go. I left her in her bed hoping she would sleep. Eventually she came running down the hall saying "Something is HAPPENING!" Praise the Lord, the girl pooped. It was a big one. I changed her into a new Pull Up. I knew this was just the beginning. Twenty minutes later she waddles into my room. "Mommy I poopied AGAIN!" Have you seen a Pull Up reach it's critical threshold of capacity? The side panels were peeling apart as she moved. There was stuff oozing out of it. Solid stuff was on her ankles, more coming out as she walked.
"TO THE BATHROOM!!!"
I put the one year old into the bath tub where I knew he would be contained. Poop falls on to the ground as she waddles in. She doesn't realize the extent that it is all over her. She looks like she just ran a mud run. "DO NOT MOVE." She moves of course. I am trying to wipe her legs up and it is on her dress. I get the dress off which smears it up her back. The baby is trying to stand up in the tub - in his socks - so I am wiping her with one hand and trying to grab the baby and make him sit down with the other. Luckily I had a Target bag stashed under the sink and threw the wipes and the remains of the Pull Up in it. I gave up trying to not get poop on me. It was pointless. I went through a package of wipes. I got her wiped up as much as I can and a new Pull Up on her just in case, and tell her to stay in the bathroom, she is taking a bath. Now she feels like a new girl, alive, free, full of energy! She runs out of the bathroom before I can catch her and she is jumping on my bed. The baby is now standing in the tub again, and you guessed it, he is loading his diaper. I give up on worrying about fecal matter on my bed. I grab the boy, take off his diaper get him cleaned up, and start the bath. I manage to corral her and get them both in the tub. This whole scenario took place in a span of about ten minutes, I was impressed with my speediness.
This evening, I surveyed the aftermath of the Great Poopacalypse of 2014. Two bathmats, my duvet cover, a blanket that was on the floor of the baby's room (she must have gone in there before she found me), her clothes, and my clothes are all in the process of being washed. The carpet in the bedroom is dotted with pieces of toilet paper to indicate where I sprayed carpet cleaner. I weighed the bag that held the Pull Up - one and a half pounds! I am astonished that it was that much. My poor girl. I am so relieved that she finally went.
I feel like I earned a Mommy poop survival merit badge today. I am sure there will be many more badges to add to my collection in days to come. In the meantime, I am going to eat MY ice cream with M&M's on top. I deserve it after the past few days.
