There has been a “Poop Issue” in my house lately, and by “issue” I mean my child won’t do it. While this sounds fantastic, what with the poopless diapers and all, this is apparently a problem because his stomach gets achy and I become convinced that he has an intestinal obstruction or has somehow managed to swallow a wine cork and will soon either explode from the pressure of the backed up poop or require surgery.
Out of fear for my living room furniture should “poop explosion” be the option we end up having to deal with, I decided to call our pediatrician and figure out how in the hell to get this kid to just shit already. She gave me several options, starting with prune juice. A few hours later, prune juice was laughed at for its ineffectiveness, leaving me with only one, completely horrifying, option. I muster up all the courage I have, left the still poopless Zac with my mother and drove to CVS in search of…..suppositories.
First of all, I had no idea that our local drugstore had such a vast array of things that could be shoved up ones ass. Seriously. There was an entire shelf full of stuff whose sole purpose was to be jammed into a place where things should, as a general rule, only come out of. After reading the instructions on several packages (and nearly passing out at the thought of doing this to my child), I consulted the pharmacist who showed me which one of these little ass nuggets I needed to purchase. She also spent ten minutes reassuring me that CPS would not take my child away and force me to register on the sex offender database for using them on Zac.
After confirming with my mom that during my trip to CVS we had not achieved the desired outcome from the prune juice, I wash my hands, get Zac undressed, put on a pair of plastic gloves and place my now screaming child on the changing table. After a quick prayer to Oprah, Tom Cruise and the Baby Jesus, I take what looks like a small bullet made glycerin and, as gently as possible, insert the suppository.
Almost instantaneously, the damn thing shot out of Zac’s ass and nearly flew across the room so fast that I had to duck to avoid being hit in the head by the now, slightly gummy, suppository. There was much screaming (from me and Zac), much hysterical laughter (from my mom) and a re-reading of the instructions before attempt number two. Attempt number two went pretty much the same as attempt number one, the only exception being that this time the damn suppository didn’t so much fly across the room as it just kept poking its little head out from my son’s butt, until it finally fell all the way out and just lay there half dead on the changing table.
At this point my mother is laughing so hard that she’s literally unable to stand upright. She finally pulls herself together enough to inform me that once the damn thing is inserted, I’m supposed to hold Zac’s butt cheeks together until the thing melts or whatever the hell it’s supposed to do. At this point, I’m trying to come up with some kind of mechanism for holding the suppository in place while that scene from The Breakfast Club where Emilio Estevez starts crying because he duct taped the hairy kid’s butt together is running through my mind.
Finally, the suppository is inserted and it stays where it’s supposed to. I spend a good ten minutes trying to calm Zac down and promising that I will pay for all of his therapy bills once this incident finally unlodges itself from the recesses of his mind and he can no longer block out the voices that are telling him to kill me. I then, upon recommendation from our pediatrician, draw him a warm bath and set him in there where he happily splashes about for about five minutes. He then gets this very strange look on his face and about ten seconds later, there is a ringing in my ears, my world seems to have gone black and I’m trying like hell not to vomit. Why you may ask? Because there was now about a metric ton of shit floating around the tub and circling my child, who was, alarmingly undisturbed by this.
Do I even need to mention that there was, yet again, much screaming?
At this point, I haul Zac out of the tub, and much to his delight, allow him to run around the house slightly wet and naked (I am totally WINNING at parenthood) while I drain the tub and clean the ever loving hell out of it. There is only one problem. The poop seemed to create some kind of a waterproof vacuum seal in the drain an there was no water leaving the bathtub. Now, not being experienced with plumbing repairs, I did the only logical thing to me at the time, which was to run to the kitchen, grab a plastic knife and try and shove the poop further down the drain. I didn’t so much care if we could ever use that bathtub again, hell, we have two of them, we don’t really need this one, I was just concerning myself with making sure the poop was far enough down the drain so that I didn’t every have to see it again.
This failed. Big time.
The reason it failed is because there was the plastic protector cap thingie from a razor that was also stuck in the drain (and now encrusted with shit). There was only one option. I had to use the plastic knife to pry that sucker out of the drain so that the water could drain, thus allowing me to disinfect the bathtub and then disinfect my kid who was sitting in the poop filled bathtub only moments earlier.
Okay, deep breath…I can totally do this.
I managed to get the plastic knife wedged between the side of the drain and the plastic razor cover and proceeded to try and pry the cover out of the drain. For a brief second the plastic razor cover started to move slowly from the clogged drain….and then it flipped out with a shocking amount of velocity and hit me square in the face. At this point, I have a naked child running around the living room while chasing the dog, a still poop covered bathtub and a still hysterically laughing mother and now I have to contend with the realization that I HAVE POOP ON MY FACE!
Yeah…I have no words either.