About a week ago, Avery pooped in the bathtub. I know it happens to most kids, but both girls were in there and it hadn’t happened before and…just…ew.
Truth be told, leading up to the “happening”, the two little princesses were pushing out toots and all three of us were laughing about it. Gas sounds funny in water, what can I say? But I guess all the outward force created the need for a different kind of elimination in Ave. I could tell by the look in her eyes, the look of distant vacancy, and the increasingly scarlet complexion that we were in for a different brand of business here.
In one swift motion, I grabbed Eirinn, pulled her out of the tub, and threw a towel around her, all before the first turd made its appearance. Then I lifted Avery out, but it was too late. Miraculously, “it” was of the un-messy variety, and nothing touched anyone or anything except for the spongy whatever-it-is we use to prop open the drain. I tried to keep the panic light, laughing about the accident with the girls following suit, telling them to pass the funny quip onto Daddy. Even at the time, it was funny. What can you do but laugh when faced with a tub full of poop?
The girls were washed and dressed and sent out of the room. I was left to wallow in self-pity as a 30 minute job just elevated into an hour-long ordeal in the matter of seconds. There was water to be drained that wasn’t going to drain itself. There was a tub that needed to be scrubbed and sanitized and de-gross-ified. There were toys that needed to be ranked on a scale of Worth Salvaging or Chuck It (results: all toys fell into the Chuck It category when I considered that they most likely will be chewed on by a human I don’t want eating poop germs). There were hands (mine) that needed to be scoured with a wire brush and bleached and burned with a blow torch. And then maybe hacked off and fed to wolves.
But in the end, the washroom was clean again and I only occasionally reminisce about the tiny little floaters and my beautiful, innocent (albeit gassy) little babies swimming in the cess pool of human feces. They’ve bathed since then and everything has been seemingly fine.
Tonight I tried to give them a bath and Avery was excited. At first. She ran up the stairs along side Eirinn. She let me disrobe her as usual. But when it came time for her diaper, she got very upset, saying “No, no! Poop!” I immediately knew what she was getting at, and it wasn’t that she needed to go. She was backing away from the tub, looking panicky and scared. I eased her out of her diaper and gently placed her in the bath. She flipped out. Red-faced, screaming for me, holding her hands up. It was heartbreaking and, of course, I took her out as quickly as possible. I wrapped her up in a towel and spent the next half an hour working different angles (do you want to play with Eirinn in the tub? do you want to wash your own hair like Eirinn is?). Every questions was answered with “Nope.”
I eventually got to wash her hair by laying her on the counter and washing it in the sink, but it was clear. She’s afraid she’s going to poop in the bath water again. I’m not sure if this will be lasting; this was the first time it’s happened and there was a bath in between that went hitch-free.
But I am sure that tonight was the first time I’ve seen Avery afraid. She’s normally my little bulldog; she’s a fight-over-flight kind of girl and she spits in the face of danger. But the thought of soiling the bath water? She was terrified. I was sad for her because the bath has been one of her favourite things lately. We normally bathe every other day, but she asks for one every day, sometimes every time we pass their bathroom. It would be horrible if a little crap ruined something she loves so much. Especially something as essential as regular hygiene.
I hope she’ll be ok next bathtime or this house will get stinky in an awful hurry.