She told them not to poop.
Let me rewind.
Wendy had doctor appointments and I forced her to let me help her out with her kids. I was waiving my raised hand in the air “Ooh, pick me, pick me!” and she actually picked me. She and her mom dropped them off at my place at 9:00AM.
This is that day…
They arrive. Her kids (Eldest Girl, Middle Girl and Youngest Boy) run in and immediately start playing with Crappy Boy and Crappy Baby. Wendy hands me a huge bag full of diapers and water bottles and says:
She tells me that she told them all not to poop at my house.
I won’t even go into what percentage of her was just joking and what percentage of her was trying to sincerely make things easier for me.
After I stop laughing, I reassure her that I’ve changed a diaper before. She tells me that Middle Girl still needs wiping help. I reassure her that I’ve done that too.
Here I am with five kids under the age of six. To those of you with only one or two kids you might think this is hard. To those of you with five or more kids you know this is hard.
But in reality, they play together so well that I surprisingly find myself doing this:
(Except not right at 9:00AM. I didn’t start drinking heavily until at least 9:30AM.)
We read books. We play games. Inside time. Outside time. Snack. I’m running this shit like a preschool, yo.
Early in the morning everyone is busy having fun outside:
Crappy Boy and Eldest Girl are making something gross and exciting in a metal tub. Crappy Baby and Youngest Boy are holding hands and wandering around the yard.
I’m making spin art with Middle Girl. Then she says:
So I help her with the sliding door and let her inside.
I realize she has been in there for a few minutes.
So I poke my head in to check on her:
She does not want my help. Even though Wendy said she needs help wiping. So, uh, now what do I do?
I hear the toilet flush. I hear it flush again. This is a good thing because we have the most horrible eco-friendly water saving toilet that probably wastes water because you have to flush it for each square of toilet paper or it will clog.
I ask Middle Girl again if she needs help wiping. She says no again.
I text Wendy to make sure she is cool with me letting Middle Girl handle her business. I also use this opportunity to tease her that after just one hour her brilliant “no pooping” advice has already backfired.
Moments later, a smell fills the air. Youngest Boy is the source.
I say it is time to “change his britches” which is lingo that Wendy uses for changing a diaper. Because she is weird.
Anyway, see how clever I am? How I used her terms so he’d feel comfortable?
It doesn’t work.
Now Youngest Boy is not one I can do the chase and capture method of toddler diapering with. I’m not going to traumatize him by forcing him to let me change his diaper. He is a sweet, soft-spoken little bugger. I have to respect that.
But at the same time, I also have to change his diaper. Think!
Toddlers will do anything for the opportunity to fling birds backwards.
(Seriously, you know the cliché of creeps offering candy to kids out of the back of a van? I’m quite certain that is outdated. Now we should probably caution our kids not to accept smartphones from strangers.)
So we cut a deal. He plays the phone while I change his diaper.
But this is no ordinary diaper:
How did poop cover every square inch of the surface so evenly? So perfectly? This was some thorough pooping. I’m impressed. I enlist one of the other kids to fetch me more wipes since I grossly misjudged the caliber. (See? Having all these extra kids around does come in handy.)
All cleaned up, all goes back to normal.
For ten minutes.
Then Youngest Boy poops again:
It goes much smoother this time since I already know the phone trick. I also bring full-size bath towels with me instead of wipes this time to handle the disaster he has once again inflicted upon his diaper.
That night, when Wendy came to pick them up:
Who knows? It might work.
We’ll just assume that Wendy’s eldest child also pooped at my house. She does it all herself so there is no way to know for sure. But she totally did. Probably like six times too.
Wendy says the silver-lining is that it means her kids are really comfortable at my house. She also said that ever since that day, Middle Girl has handled all her wiping herself. So basically, I rock and stuff.
Yes, this is the same Wendy. She is doing well. It is one year after her diagnosis and she is the same awesome person that she always has been. Just with more hats. And more swearing. And even more laughing.