Dancing Without Rhythm

Leave it to a smelly topic like poop to break my silence.

My absence has come from being busy, not even being able to think of words like "menopause" and calling it "pre-menstrual" and "post-partum", feeling annoyed by people thinking my personal blog has to be interesting, and fighting the tendency for blogging not to be 100% enjoyable. I started it for fun, I'm going to keep it fun. Dangit!

So, 4 short days ago J and I had the talk of "will there be a #3?" and "If there will be, when?"

Normally, I consider family planning a relatively private topic, but uh, you'll see how it's a vital part of this story.

Since I don't want to be changing diapers while waiting for my dentures to dry before I head off to Wal-mart to buy diapers and baby food---for both of us, I would like to get the whole show on the road. Not the immediate road, but the near future one.

Some of the reasoning for waiting much longer between Avee and #3 than we did between Benja and Avee is....oh I'm not gonna lie, Avee's pretty much the whole reason. As much as I cherish that little pumpkin head and want to eat her up for all her cuteness, she has really done a number on my ability to see myself as a rational, reasonable adult-like person who doesn't throw cantaloupe slices at walls and regularly growl my frustration like some kind of curmudgeon mountain man who hasn't had to speak in 45 years. Actually, it's more about---she's spirited and opinionated and along with the typical challenges that come with raising a child like that I just want to be sure I can give all I need to give to raising such a child. That and two babies who couldn't talk and pooped their pants all the time, just about did me in.

I set some goals to be achieved before we bring a 3rd bundle of perfection into the world.

We set a reasonable space of time, but not so much that Avee would be learning to drive while #3 suckles and I scream "shift already, SHIFT!"

J said things like, "Are you sure Avee will be potty-trained by then because I am certain I don't want to do the 2 in diapers thing again." And other such insightful questions/opinions.

I'm sure.

What I'm not so sure about anymore is if she, or her brother will STAY trained.

Benja. Sweet Benja who has had nary an accident since the blissful day he and Spiderman boxers became trusted friends. I was prepared for accidents. I know they happen. Since the beautiful spring day, he had one oops when he was sick. I don't really count that.

So, 2 days after mine and J's conversation---Benja poops his pants. He didn't even bother with the petty crimes. I went to a church activity and afterwards was in the parking lot having a very necessary conversation with another woman, that no 31 year old woman should have to have. Something along the lines of, "Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful". It had to be done.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Benja is standing with his fists clenched up by his face, and I'd wager his little cheeks were clenched too, I just can't be sure, and squealing with genuine panic "Poop is going into my pants and I just can't stop it!" These are the kind of moments I would like to watch on the video footage of my life, from heaven. I had a very "I am my mother" moment. It went like this:
Me: So, like I was saying Mary Beth---I really can't help how beautiful I am and it's just not fair to not have...
Benja: Poop is going into my pants and I just can't stop it
Me: (Looking down calmly, as though I just noticed there was a 3 year old running around my legs chasing his 1 year old sister and knocking her down on the hard concrete every 30 seconds) Well, just let it, don't panic, we can take care of it when you're done....friends just based on how I can make an entire room swoon by my presence.

Ben took care of his bidness, and I took care of mine.

He ended up wearing a plastic bag home. You think things like that will be a deterrent for repeating undesirable behaviors. They aren't. The next day he told EVERYONE about his "tool puhlastic pants". I did the smile-shrug-aren't-kids-sweet-when-they-talk-nonsense-like-that and shoved tic tacs in his mouth to stop the talking.

His accident was understandable. Unpleasant, but understandable.

He did it again this morning. 4 feet from the bathroom. Initially he was pretty distraught about it. I worked him through the initial unpleasantness of feeling your own crap in your pants and then added some unpleasantness of my own with a stern talking.

The kid had the nerve to give me instructions on how to change him. Excuse me? When you are the one with your own crap stuck to your body and someone else is removing it, I think you lose ALL credibility in the "how to" department. He offered tips like, "don't get any poop on the tarpet, it will really fmell when I watch my Blue's Clues video from the library" and "don't let Avee touch my poop---she already fmells bad". Avee did in fact fmell bad. And so this lovely morning, I changed two poopy "diapers" back to back. There is something considerably more disgusting about "changing" and cleaning a bum you haven't had to change and clean for 5 months or so.

That is where I had my flash of inspiration on exactly when #3 should come.

Avee should be through her second year of a Ph.D program and Benja should be finishing residency in pediatrics and have had plenty of kids poop or pee on him by then.

At that point, if either of my children have accidents (because they are bound to happen, right?) it will NOT be my problem. It will be a big problem, and probably several people's problem, but NOT mine.

Posted by Angela on Thursday, September 07, 2006 at 9/07/2006 | Permalink