Wit and Wisdom - Wormy Edition

Today, as K and I were driving on the beltway we were searching for UPS and FedEx trucks. This is her latest thing. She is fascinated by the delivery trucks. Maybe it's her future calling or just her hope that the trucks all contain Amazon boxes filled with princess paraphernalia just waiting to be delivered to her doorstep. Regardless, that's what we were doing until she spotted what she thought was a garbage truck.

"Look Mama, a trash truck!"

"No baby. That's a sewage removal truck."

"Huh?"

...hmm, I'll tread lightly on this one, knowing her drain issues.

"Well, it's a truck that takes the stuff people put down the drains, like the potty. It takes it away to be cleaned," I tell her.

"So it comes why we're sleeping?"

Like its Santa or the Easter Bunny.

"No. It doesn't come to our house. We live in the city. It comes to houses where the people live in the country."

"Like Elmo's house?"

I don't know if I'm allowed to say this, but clearly she doesn't watch enough tv.

"No baby. Elmo lives in the city on Seasame Street. You know Slimy's cousin Squirmy? Remember? He lives in the country."

Laughing a bit, she says "Yeah, but he lives in an apple. And worms don't have potties."

"No? Why not?"

"Because Mama. Worms don't have vaginas or bums or penises."

So there you have it. Now you know.

Her innocence will believe Slimy, from Oscar the Grouch's trash can, has a cousin who lives in an apple in the country. But the idea that he could have a potty is entirely too far fetched for her.

My Daughter Is Not A Dog

I was initiated into the most awesome, super duper club ever this week. Motherhood.

A fellow mother and I decided the best way to spend our day was to drive our two small children to a children's museum in Philadelphia. And really, the day was a blast. We didn't lose them in the museum. Neither child burst into tears...wait, I forgot, mine did, over which carousel horse she wanted to ride. Regardless, the day was a success.

My initiation came a little later in the day, on the ride home.

It was nap time. They needed to sleep on the ride home. My friend's child was very compliant, mine...not so much. K did everything she could to keep herself awake. She kicked, she cried, she begged for food and drink. Then...it began.

"Mama! I have to go potty. Bad!"

"K, you went potty before we left the museum. You're fine. Hold it. Go to sleep."

"I can't Mama! I can't hold it!"

"K! ENOUGH! Go to sleep!"

"It's poop, Mama!"

Now, at this point I'm still thinking she's playing me. She pooped at the museum. We just left a half hour ago. There's no way she has to go again.

"It's coming Mama. The poop, it's coming!"

"Hold it please, K. We can't stop here. Look around, do you see any bathrooms? Do you want to poop on the road?"

"MAAMAA! I can't hold it. The poop, it's coming!"

Alright, maybe she's serious. Maybe we should start looking for an exit. I'm still not sure, but I certainly don't want to clean up shit.

"K, please try to hold it. We can't stop now. You have to hold it."

"Mama, noo!! I can't hold it. The poop is coming! I can't stop it! MAMA!!"

Okay, she's serious. She's arching her body trying to get up out of her carseat. We need to get her to a bathroom, fast.

"Okay, K. As soon as we can, we will stop. Hold on, we're looking. We're trying."

"Hurry, Mama! The poop wants to come out, now!"

Finally, an exit. We pull off I95 and head toward the fast food restaurants. But we don't see anything. We're in back country. Houses, trees, tractors...nothing.

"It's coming. NOW! I can't stop it!!"

Executive decision, we're stopping right here. We either stop here in the middle of nothing and let her out or she's shitting in her leggings.

"Okay, K. We're stopping. You will have to poop here. In the grass."

Now, she's crying.

"I'm not a dog, Mama. I can't poop in the grass."

"No. You're not a dog, but you have to go and there are no bathrooms anywhere. You have to."

"I hope no one sees me."

"Oh baby, no one will see you. I'll use the door to block you. You'll be fine. It's okay."

And it was. She pooped fine. Just like a dog.

Back in the car, heading south on 95, K calls to me.

"Mama? Why didn't we use a bag and pick up my poop?"

Wait...didn't she just tell me she wasn't a dog?

So there you have it, my initiation into motherhood. My kid pooped on the side of the road. It sure was swell.