I swear I am losing my bloody marbles. We are potty training the oldest. This means celebrating around him every time he takes a dump. This is obviously mental. This is not preparing you for life. People do not celebrate and congratulate you when you take a shit.
Anyway, when it comes to potty training, my wife usually takes care of that shit. Literally. The other day, however, my wife was out, and Theo hit up a poo wee combo in the potty in the bathroom. He shouted down to me to let me know. Now, as irresponsible and inconsiderate as I am, even I am not prepared to just leave that situation for my wife to sort out. I need to show that I am able to step up to the plate and do my duty. That smelly, disgusting, floating plate.
I decided to deal with this swiftly and efficiently. Many of you will know what to do when faced with a potty full of weepoo in a bathroom. I immediately stumbled upon the solution : get a carrier bag to decant this mess. Now before any of you think I’m mental, let me just clarify : I got two carrier bags. I am not stupid.
I was then faced with my son watching me transfer his creation into the carrier bags. He looked bemused, and almost seemed to enjoy the process of me trying to complete this transfer without spilling a single drop, as if his excretions were liquid gold. This took around two minutes, during which time he had sat himself down to take in the show. I was surprised the little prick didn’t get popcorn.
I was successful in my endeavour, and my reward for my efforts was a bag with a turd floating in some urine, like some sort of terrible, excrement version of a fairground goldfish. I dismissed thoughts of buying a tank, however, and placed the carrier bag into the bin.
It was only when I phoned my wife to ask her to get more carrier bags, that she pointed out that the toilet that I had been leaning against while completing my home sewage project might have been the more effective disposal unit. It was like the scales had fallen from my eyes. She asked why I had decided against this method. It was then that I had to tell her that it hadn’t even occurred to me.
I felt two very strong emotions at this point. The first was embarrassment, as this was an incredibly stupid thing to do, and now like a dick, I had told my wife. She revels in this stuff. I often bump into her friends and they talk to me while suppressing a snigger because Mouthy McGossiptwat has been having a good laugh with them at my expense.
The second was rage towards my son. Because this little shit knew that Mummy behaved as a normal logical human would, and flushed the potty contents down the toilet. He had then watched me struggle with TWO CARRIER BAGS AND A TURD, and said absolutely nothing. I did not even pour the wee away. I really was King of the Shitheads. And he had said nothing. Make no mistake, this was not because he thought I had found some superior method of dealing with his emissions – he was enjoying watching me screw this up. I had to stop myself from saying “NOBODY THINK’S YOU’RE GOOD AT POOING. WE JUST SAY THAT. YOU’RE THE WORST POOER I’VE EVER SEEN.” It would have broken his heart.
I am avoiding my wife’s friends for the forseeable future.
BYE!