We enter this scene with my little Pea gleefully taking a bath. She’s imploring her bath time friends to take their spots for circle time, so she can tell them a wonderful story about her day.
Also in the bathroom is me, Pea’s father. I am gathering her towel and pyjamas, and preparing myself for the imminent power struggle that would arise when I advise Pea that bath time is over.
I step out of the bathroom and go into the next room to grab Pea’s pyjamas. Just before I leave, Pea lets out a tiny fart, which bubbles to the surface. She giggles, and I ask her to excuse herself. She does, and all is right in the world.
I step out of the bathroom for 2 seconds, and armageddon begins.
As I walk back in the bathroom, Pea is cowering in the corner of the bathtub. Floating perilously close to her is a fairly sizeable piece of poo. Another chunk is floating off in the distance. Pea has, quite literally, dropped her “kids” off at the “pool.”
I quickly grab her, put her on the bathroom floor and wrap her in her towel.
Sensing the need to address this situation, I start with the obvious.
Me: That’s a piece of poo.Pea: (Silent.)Me: Did that scare you Pea?Pea: Yeah.Me: Did you think you were going to fart and then the poo came out?Pea: Yeah.Me: That’s OK sweetheart, it was an accident. It happens to Daddy all the time too.Pea: Ok.
Our first priority was to get Pea into the shower in our en-suite so no pieces of poo could infect her lady bits. Once that was taken care of, I was faced with the task of waste disposal.
My wife suggested I simply let the bathtub drain and take the chunks out with a paper towel. As somewhat of a poo expert, I could see that these pieces would potentially cause damage to the drain if I didn’t deal with it immediately. I could also imagine what it would have been like lifting the chunks out if they weren’t floating… like trying to catch a wild pig with greasy hands.
I knew what I had to do.
First, I psyched myself up with a little motivational pep talk. “This is what Dad’s do.” “This is what Dad’s do.” “This is what Dad’s do.”
Then, I went in.
I scooped one chunk, then the next, then dropped them in the toilet. I shuddered, did the sign of the cross, and washed my hands. I ended the ordeal by pinning an imaginary “World’s Best Dad” button on my own t-shirt.
My wife, in turn, supported me by laughing and calling it a Kodak moment. Ah, love.
There is a silver lining to this story. If Pea hadn’t been engaged in circle time, we would have lost a lot of perfectly good bath time toys.
That said, a moment of silence for Pea’s gorilla sticker, who was literally not invited to circle time… a shunning which cost him a place in our home. We will miss you bubbled-gorilla sticker.
I’ll end this post, which I had hoped I would never have to write, with this hilariousness…