Mud & Mayhem

It happened.

I never thought this day would come, and I want to be clear — I am not happy about it. This was just a normal evening in our house. The boys had been outside playing in the mud, which means bath was non-negotiable. We got them in the tub, broke out the bath bombs with the little action figures inside, the ones they love both for the toy and for the way it turns the water a fun, mysterious color.

Let me paint the scene. You know it if you’re a parent. Toys everywhere. Letters floating around. Both boys playing nicely side by side, splashing and giggling, the way every parent dreams bath time will go. You’re crouched on the bath mat, already soaked from the chest down because splashing is half the fun.

I turned my head for one second to talk to my husband.

I turned back.

My youngest was looking at me with his hand near his bottom, wearing the most genuine, beautiful smile a toddler has ever produced, while his brother played happily right next to him completely unaware of what was coming. “Mommy, poopy.”

It happened.

I have never in my life seen my four year old exit a bathtub faster. He was out so fast I think he dried himself mid-air on the way to the floor. Self preservation at its finest.

I grabbed my youngest, pulled him out, and confirmed — yes. He had pooped in the water. And not just a contained situation. He was covered. Legs and all.

I quickly wiped him down, moved him somewhere safe, and then turned to face what I can only describe as the most scarring parenting experience of my career to date. You have to put your hand into that water. You have to drain it while simultaneously fishing out debris with tissues and whatever else you can grab, all while maintaining a calm, reassuring voice — it’s okay buddy, accidents happen — because the last thing you want is a kid who’s now terrified of baths forever.

Meanwhile, the string of words exchanged between my husband and me, completely silently, just through pure eye contact, was extremely graphic. I’m not going to apologize for that. If you know, you know. If you don’t, consider yourself lucky.

Once everything was cleaned and disposed of, my son started asking where his bath toys went.

I am not the parent who is going to scrub that situation off a toy and roll the dice. Especially not a toy that regularly goes straight into his mouth. Every single thing in that water went directly into the trash. No qualms. No hesitation. I will happily buy new toys for this exact reason and if you ever find yourself in this situation, you will too.

Oh, to be young again with simple problems. What should I watch tonight. Should we go out. How distant and remedial those concerns feel now.

We have officially crossed into new parenting territory.

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Share your most scarring parenting story — the one that crossed you into new territory you weren’t ready for. Drop it in the comments, I need the company.