Last Updated on October 13, 2020 by World's Okayest Mom
I’ve decided that potty-training young’uns should have its own soundtrack.
I love when I’m watching a movie (or, to be completely honest, The Walking Dead) and the background music gives me a heads up of the horrors to come. I very much dislike surprises, to the point that I almost always read the plot summary before watching a movie or reading a book. (This is a safe place, so no judgement.) So I like the eerie bass tones and somber, drawn-out melody that plays right before a zombie jumps out and tries to eat off a person’s face.
I think potty-training, or maybe better titled, parent-training, would be much easier if a similar soundtrack played when My Girl went into the bathroom, so I can be prepared to cover my eyes, instead of taking the in horror without any preparation.
Just to give you a little background on My Girl… She’s a character. When The Husband and I were taking foster parenting classes, we learned that My Girl would be classified as “High Persistency.” Let’s call a spade a spade. She’s energetic and stubborn (actually the PC term these days is “strong willed” but, again, a spade). It’s a fun and trying combination.
She’s the kind of child who plays pretend all the time. All. The. Time. Either she’s a baby unicorn just hatching (yes, hatching) or a “pim-chanzee” (her word for chimpanzee when she was four years old) eating bugs from my hair or a ten-year-old (because, I think she truly believes life would be better if she was just two years older).
This child was twerking at age five, when rest of the kids were pretending to be Elsa. I swear up and down that she DID NOT learn that from me. The only time I ever twerked was when I re-enacted her family Thanksgiving dance performance for my friends. Even then it just felt wrong.
This is the kind of child who, when The Husband was completely frustrated with her interruptions while we were talking said: “I’ll just talk to Momma when you go to sleep.”
She whispered to me like a creepy villain, “I’m not going to sleep.” Another perfect time for horror movie music.
Chocolate or Poop
Back to My Girl’s toilet time soundtrack…
Actually, my comfort with My Girl’s bathroom antics has increased to an alarming level.
Before having a child of my own, I remember watching a Tina Fey scene where a mother says “Chocolate or poop? Chocolate or poop?” She then proceeds to taste this mystery poop or chocolate stain on her child’s clothing.
I recall thinking: ‘There is no effing way you will even get me close to that stain. Throw out the shirt and put on a new one.’
But after life with My Girl, it’s a different story. My comfort level has not gotten quite to that point – put me in a straight jacket if it does.
BC (before children), I would laugh about this scene and wonder what crazy person could even conjure up such a comedic scenario.
When My Girl was just a baby, The Husband and I would say “chocolate or poop” back and forth as a joke. But then came the day where it clicked.
My Girl was toddler age, but still in diapers. During church we had a, shall I say, particularly messy diaper. Super Mommy (that’s me) cleaned it up without flinching (yes, increased comfort level). Then, we sat down for fellowship hour and had chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.
You see where this is going…
When we got home, I saw a stain on my shirt — yes, my own shirt — and I literally said “Chocolate or poop? Damn… Now I get it.”
The Walking Dead warning
It only got worse from there. The more independent My Girl got in the bathroom, the more disturbed I was by the sounds coming out of said bathroom.
Some needed a laugh track from a sitcom, but for most, I would have appreciated the heads up from somber bass tones ala The Walking Dead. For example, these are verbatim things I’ve heard My Girl say while on the potty:
- Me: “Did you go number one or number two?” My Girl: “Number three.” (Oh damn… That can’t be good.)
- My Girl: “Momma, I pooed! (Pause for her to apparently get off the potty to examine the poo.) Gasp! “Where did it go?!” (Please for the love of God be a phantom poo, not a slippery sucker that got away above sea level. Please. Please. Please.)
- My Girl: “Feel my undies!!” (That one is my fault. There has to be a better way to make sure a toddler didn’t pee her pants, even just a little bit. But I haven’t found it…)
- My Girl: “Why are there floaters?” (I am proud of her scientist’s mind though.)
- My Girl: “I’m ready!” (Anyone with kids know that’s the universal slang for ‘Come wipe my butt!’) Sometimes I get: “Momma, I wiped the pee, but you can do the poo.” (Thanks for that. And now you don’t need to get me anything for Christmas.)
- My Girl: “Be patient, Momma. Sometimes it takes awhile for the pee to come.” (Admittedly, my biggest parenting flaw is my impatience. I should have this one put on a meme or coffee mug.)
- My Girl: “I don’t see why I have to wipe. It just drip dries anyways.” (The silver lining here is I think My Girl will adapt to life on the Appalachian Trail easily.)
And then this argument happened one day…
My Girl (yelling from the bathroom): “Momma, come in here and see something awesome!” (This exactly when the Psycho music should cue up.)
Me: “No, I’m not coming into the bathroom to see what you’re doing.”
My Girl: “No, it’s ok. Just come see it.” (Duunnn dunn. Duuuunn dunn.)
Me: “No, I don’t want to see you poo.”
My Girl: “If you don’t like you, you don’t have to look.” (EEEEK EEEK EEEK EEEKKKK)
Me: “That’s what I’m saying. I don’t like it. I’m not looking!”
My Girl: “Just try it once!” (I could tell you that I caved in like a big sucker and finally went into the bathroom. Or, I could just tell you that’s she’s an only child, and you’ll know that’s exactly what I did with no further comment or explanation.)