The latest incident occurred when I needed it least – as we are running out the door trying to get to school on time. The school district moved the start time up by almost an hour, from 9:15 am last year (which we barely made on time) to 8:25 am this year. My kids are not exactly morning people, then throw a newborn and breastfeeding into the mix, and you can understand my anxiety every morning trying to get us up and dressed and fed and in the car by 8:05 am. Add to that my son, who excels at lagging, and morning time equals a whole lot of cajoling and hurrying and frustration. So imagine my dismay, when, at 8:04 a.m. on Monday, as I am scurrying around trying to get everyone out the door, Kaiden announces he has to poop.
Kaiden is no fast pooper. He can easily be in the bathroom for upwards of half-an-hour trying to squeeze one out.
But what’s a mom to do? I can’t exactly tell him to hold it. So I stop everything and sit on the couch and prepare to wait, nervously glancing at my watch every few minutes. Then, of course, Kaya says she has to pee, but insists on using the upstairs bathroom and waiting until Kaiden is done. I watch her grabbing her crotch and walking around the kitchen with her knees together and bent over like an old lady, but she stubbornly refuses to go downstairs to use the potty.
It’s now 8:10 a.m. School starts in 15 minutes and we are not even in the car.
“Kaiden, are you done yet?” I yell. “Hurry up!”
“No, this is going to be a big one.”
Great. Another man-size poop. I sure as hell hope he wipes good.
8:15 a.m. 8:20 am. Finally, Kaiden walks out of the bathroom. “I’m done. But the toilets clogged.”
Crap. Literally. I tell Kaya, who looks like she is in pain from holding it for so long, that now she most definitely has to go downstairs to use the bathroom. I’m not about to plunge the toilet now, so I tell Kaiden to close the lid and we’ll save it for Daddy to take care of. A little present for when he gets home from work.
Kaya’s comes upstairs wearing different pants. Guess she didn’t make it to the bathroom on time. No surprise there, as Kaya has about the same bladder control as an old lady. I notice her jeans are on backwards, with the zipper in back. “Can we put your jeans on the right way?” I ask.
“No, I like it like this.”
8:25 am. The bell is ringing as we speak.
Fuck it. I throw the kids in the car, backward jeans and clogged toilet and all.
I glance at the baby, who has spit up all over her face and shirt and car seat.
8:30 a.m. and I need a drink. And a good plunger.