You Go, Girl
Dad Gone Mad | February 15My daughter, who will be three next month, has entered the stage of potty training I dread more than any other stage of parenting. It’s the stage where the child takes adult-sized dumps in a little bitty diaper engineered to hold poops a fraction of that size.
Don’t be fooled: a three-year-old girl, while small and dainty and covered in pretty pink bows, can generate some serious output. Sometimes when I open her diaper and see what she’s wrought, I feel like Roy Scheider in Jaws when he sees the shark for the first time. “Honey?” I’ll call out in horror to my wife. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”
With a boy, it’s different. For starters, they’re much easier to wipe: clean the balls, clean the tush, wrap ‘em up and send ‘em back into battle. Conversely, cleaning the myriad nooks and crannies of a little girl who has gifted you in this manner requires wet wipes and Q-Tips and one of those miners’ helmets with the flashlight on top and occasionally the rental of an industrial pressure washer. It’s like trying to get melted butter off of a toasted English muffin.
In the case of a boy, you’re also strangely proud of his big old shits because where boys are concerned we associate size and girth with, you know, masculinity. My daughter? Not so much. If she’s going to roll a steamer that dwarfs the family dog and pushes the elastic waistband on her pants to the very brink of disintegration, I’d rather not know about it. I’d rather she just learn to go into the bathroom and close the door and deposit her wares in the appropriate porcelain receptacle and light a match when she’s done.
I don’t remember how long this stage lasts, but I do know that I have had a vasectomy, which means this is the last time I will ever experience this eyeglass-fogging, septum-burning part of parenthood. I suppose the finality of it means I should cherish it and soak up every precious minute with my little daughter.
But then I remember that we’re talking about shits so big that if they had wheels, I could drive them to work.
Man I hope your dog doesn’t get a complex over this!
It maybe the last time you perform this duty with your children, but don’t forget, one day your grandchildren will also crap their pants while visiting good ole’ grandpappy.
Often times, when a blog entry makes me laugh, I read bits of it to my husband (who is 3′ away with his laptop open, yeah, we’re pathetic). Anyway, this time I had to read pert-near the whole damn thing. Too funny.
*laughs* I always had a harder time cleaning the boys! You take the diaper off, and that cool air meets the wet poo, and their balls try to climb up their hind end, and get so wrinkled that it takes forever to get the shit out of there!
This is a great blog! I’ll be back!
Brother, I am so glad I am done changing my little girls poops. I am laughing out loud. I hate kid poop. My youngest is eight months all he eats is breast milk and cheerios and he not only fills up his diaper but his pant legs as well. The two year olds turds have consistency and wipe up nice, he is boy.
My daughter uses the potty and if you check in her she informs you that she needs her “privacy” which is music to my ears. When “boys are in the pool” she lets you know it and all privacy goes out the window. “I need a Wipe” echoes thru the house.
that post was great, can’t wait to read some more.
And here I thought that the swamp of baby effluvia was the worst of the grossness. It gets worse? Shoot me now.
Oh man. I just got my boy out of diapers, and I’ve had a suspicion that things will be more ‘challenging’ with the girl (due next month). You have confirmed my suspicions. I’m thinking about the vasectomy option.
LOL….thanks for contributing to this site as well! Nice that you carried your regular theme into all your venues!
Try changing a 7-month old with adult-sized dumps. You’d think we’ve been feeding her raw meat and potatoes…
Swan - Dad Gone Mad chronicled his vasectomy this past December. You should read it.
www.dadgonemad.com
“It’s like trying to scrape melted butter off a toasted English muffin”
I love it! It’s so true, it hurts!
The two rules for dating my teenage daughter. (Oh and I don’t even have teenage daughters yet. But I do have twin girls).
Rule #1: You make her cry, I make you cry.
Rule #2: You stick anything in her and I stick something bigger in you.
Now these are rules I can live by.
I laughed so hard at this, and then read it aloud to my partner and he cracked up some more. Our girl has been industrial sizing it for weeks now, and yes, mother of god…enough already.
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