My cousin Emily and her sweet bebe Louie came over for a visit the other day and we had a great time letting the little crawlers paw each other and watching Louie try to knock George over in the friendliest manner possible. We decided to throw the two little boys in the bath together before they headed home so Em would have a sweet-smelling, clean baby all ready for bed when she got home.
Louie had been making some pretty interesting faces indicating that he was having some gastrointestinal, shall we say, issues, during dinner. Basically he was working on his business and seemed to get the job done. We got the little dudes into the tub and soaped and cleaned up and were letting them play. G started fussing and wanted to get out, to eat, and go to bed. We barely got George out of the tub and next thing we know Louie is letting round two rip in the tub and we were left with this…
Em profusely apologized and all I could do was laugh. I scooped out what I could with a cup, threw out the unfortunate wash cloth and booger sucker that were part of the collateral damage, let the rest go down the drain and gave the whole tub a good spray with Clorox.
It totally reminded me of when Dave was a toddler and having some trouble with being a bit plugged up in the poop department. We tried pear juice, prune juice, peach juice, and apricots and nothing seemed to help. The poor guy would pace around the house yelling “my bottom hurts” until an inevitable explosion would finally come. Then peace would descend throughout the land.
D was having one of those days and we were getting so tired of hearing him complain even though we know he must be uncomfortable. We told him to relax, to just think about something else, to do anything but please for the love of Pete stop telling me your bottom hurts!
We were over at my parents’ house with my brother’s family and stuck Dave in the tub with a couple cousins and some bubbles. One of his older cousins was playing around with a booger sucker and shooting Dave on the tummy with the water when my brother who was monitoring the bath saw something solid land on Dave’s stomach. He was only perplexed momentarily and with dread he parted the sheet of bubbles covering the water and started yelling, “Code brown! Code brown!”
We all came running and started getting kids out of the tub and into a different shower to be cleaned yet again. We were pretty sure who the culprit of the pooptastic tub time was, but he wouldn’t confess when we asked him. I’m not sure if he thought he was in trouble or if he really didn’t notice what was going on on his rear side, but he insisted it wasn’t him.
We asked him straight out and he said again it wasn’t him and then, after a pause, he says, “Who pooped in that tub?” and because every adult in the room couldn’t stop laughing he just kept repeating it over and over. Here’s this kid who took the biggest dump ever in my Mom’s bathtub who earlier that day was telling everyone how plugged up he was now innocently asking, “Who pooped in that tub? Who pooped in that tub?” Oh my lord it was funny. And he said it for weeks afterward. At least the repetition of that phrase never got old like the other one did.
Louie is older and bigger than George so Louie kindly lets G borrow his hand-me-downs. Because George gets to be so darn stylish in Louie’s clothes all is forgiven about him crapping in our tub.
Visit anytime Louie, but next time you’re wearing a swimmy diaper in my tub.