You know, just for the record, Lisa’s not the only one who has poop chronicles.
My 5-year-old son, my 10-month-old daughter, and I were waiting at the YMCA for my other daughter and my wife to finish getting the daughter changed from swimming lessons.
Our son said to me, “I’ll be right back.” and I watch him walk down the hall and turn into the male washroom. After three minutes, I thought to myself, “why is that boy taking so long”, so I went in to check on him, baby in my arms.
I asked him if he was alright and he unlatched the stall door and said he needed my help. I didn’t think much of it because he still hasn’t quite mastered the art of wiping yet. So while in the middle of wiping him, he says to me, “Papa? Can you wipe out my underwear too?”
Sure enough, he hadn’t quite made it to the toilet?¢‚Ç¨‚Äùdespite the deposit sitting in the toilet.
So here I was sitting in a bathroom stall with a baby in my one arm trying to think of how I was going to deal with his dirty?¢‚Ç¨‚Äùand quite wet might I add?¢‚Ç¨‚Äùunderwear and shorts. Then it hit me.
I went back to the waiting area and came back his backpack. Luckily he brought a plastic bag to hold his wet swimming suit and towel and, for some odd reason, had packed another set of shorts.
I put the baby on the floor, swished his underwear a few times in the toilet bowl to clean it out (flushing between swishes of course), put his shorts and slopping wet underwear in the same plastic bag, wiped off his feet, legs and the wall, and put new shorts on him. All this while moving my baby daughter away from the toilet twice and bringing her back from crawling under the stall door three times.
Then we both washed our hands. I washed mine twice.