Join me friends for a little story. I hesitated sharing this for fear of judgment, cps involvement, and future unemployment. In fact I've sat on this little diddy for a few weeks but I decided that although painful to relive, the first step in this process of emotional recovery is acknowledgment.
So here it goes: The Night my Two Year Old Took a Dump on the Table: A Story of Loss and Trauma.
It started out like any other day. I made my kids cry in all the usual ways: not letting them eat toilet paper, intervening when the chose to hash out confrontations using moves that make the WWE wrestlers look like amatuers, trying to empty my bladder every 6 hours. You know, the normal ways we parents ruin our kids for life. After spending the day with my sweet angel babies from heaven, dinner time approached. I once again made a meal they requested and then sat and watched while they threw it at me like I was the worst stand up comedian on America's Got Talent(everyone's a critic.) After this literal and proverbial blood bath I wiped the macaroni out of my eyebrows, removed chicken from my bra, and decided our next bonding activity where I cried as much as them would be bathtime. I begin by undressing Audrey. She makes eye contact and pats me on the back. At this point a code red should've been blaring. Audrey was preemptively comforting me for her next planned attack, but I was distracted by the feeling of corn in my hairline, and let's be honest, I'm not that bright.
Rookie. Mistake.
So, now that Audrey is naked and glorifying in the breeze between her butt cheeks, I move on to undress my next 2 kids. As I strip Meara down I watch Audrey run to the couch and jump on the end table. Cue me yelling: Hey, Hey, Hey NOOOOOOOO, while waving around Meara's underwear like the white flag it was. SOS. At this point I realize shit is about to go down. Literally.
Audrey turns.
Looks at me.
Makes direct eye contact. (Evil smiles.)
Takes a large dump on the table.
Cue collective gasps. Audrey takes this time while we are all trying to process the fact that she just deposited her nuggets of love from lunch on the table in our living room, to jump down and immediately flee.
Because my life is ALL about timing this is also when my husband casually strolls in, glances down and then yells: THERE IS A TURD ON THE TABBBBLEEEEEEE.
Yes. Yes there is a turd on the table and the turd depositer is currently rubbing her butt on a pillow like an African cat in heat. After you've collected yourself dear husband, please grab poopy pants Mcgee before she marks anymore of her territory.
When I relayed this story to friends most people's first response was: "why weren't you watching her."
Um I was. Every excruciating second I watched her as she executed her plan of terror. I watched, yelling, waving someone else's underwear, holding onto 2 other naked children, with total horror and a smidgen of respect for her quick maneuvering and blatant screw you attitude.
So for any moms out there who may be struggling. It could be worse. You're 2 year old could let you know just what she thinks of you in the form of bodily waste deposited on antique furniture: her opinion of you a literal display of pulic crap.
Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡
And the struggle. It's real.
