Oh Poop!

Some time ago my sweet little princess took a giant poo in the bath tub. I reacted poorly and now she is traumatized. If we are to even mention a bath she cries and shakes and yells "I POOPING!!!!"

My Mommy Guilt is in full effect. I did this. I created this little bundle of anxiety and fed into her fears by reacting poorly to her, er, "situation". I ask her about a bath daily. She cries and says no, daily. What I am trying to say without having to type it all out is that due to my deepening guilt, my child hardly ever bathes. We sponge bathe her but I cannot bring myself to torture her. This has been going on for a few weeks. WEEKS!!!

This morning we decided enough was enough. The Hubs had semi-successfully bathed her nearly a week ago. Progress? Luck? Who knows. All we knew was that our child was dirty and in desperate need of a bath. We broached the subject over breakfast. It didn't go well.

"NO BATH ME!!! I POOPING!!! CHANGE DIAPER ME!! I POOOOOOOOPING!!!!!!"

I tried to soothe her and tell her that it is ok if she poops. No one would get angry (this time). I explained how everyone poops. We read the book "Everyone Poops" by Taro Gomi to reinforce my point. The Hubs busted out the bath finger paints and a paint brush. We did everything short of having Mickey Mouse, Diego, Dora and Elmo come and whisk her into a bath full of candy. I asked her again. Would she please take a bath?

"Oh-Tay, Mommy. Keep diaper on."

She was negotiating. Which part of the healing process was this? Step 49? Right after freaking out but right before deception and trickery. At least she was not crying and shaking. We were now playing a delicate game of bath time chess. I had to make sure my next move was calculated and perfect. I ran/skipped to the bathroom and started the bath. The Hubs re-read "Everyone Poops". I brought in the portable heater, filled the torture device bath tub with toys and big shiny bubbles. The scene was set. I had done my best. It was in her hands now.

Your move, kid.

The Hubs brought her in and stripped her down to her diaper. In she went. Willingly. Happily. Check and mate.

If only it was that simple. She happily played while I stalked some folks on Facebook on my phone. We all chatted and laughed. It was like old times. Before water-poopgate. I knew I had this game in the bag. It was my turn and I took it with confidence. Time to wash up. She and I grabbed washcloths and started scrubbing. She was giggling and I was elated. I could feel the Mommy Guilt lifting. I was an awesome Mom! On a roll now I gave her some shampoo to help me wash her hair. We rubbed, lathered and laughed.

It was the next thing I did that lost me this strategic game. I mentioned rinsing. Fatal flaw. Rookie move. Dumb. Ass. Mistake.

"NO RINSE!!! I WANT DADDY!!! I POOPING!!! I GO ON POTTY!! I WANT DAAAA-DEEEEEE!!"

I wanted Daddy, too. In came the Hubs and together we were able to rinse her foam covered head. Wonder how we did it? Ever wrestle an angry, wet, naked toddler with super human strength and the ability to reach octaves that would make your dogs ears bleed? Well, it was like that. But worse. Our 90 pound dog ran and quivered in fear of the noise. Our neighbors checked their emergency broadcast radios for further instruction. Our Elf on a Shelf went back to the North Pole and I am pretty sure a mushroom cloud appeared over our house.

We all survived. Barely. She is walking around the house acting like nothing happened. I am guessing denial comes after negotiating. But now I have post traumatic stress disorder. I am the ball of anxiety. She is clean and happy, however, my Mommy Guilt is at an all time high. She smells better. Much better. I feel worse. Much worse. The Hubs has retreated to the office. The dog won't look me in the eye. Our Elf is cowering behind a family photo and our neighbors are still wondering if that was only a test of the emergency broadcast system.

Who won? For now, I call a stale mate.