Yes, I'm Going There

I’m not quite sure how to begin here. I guess I could tell you that my youngest child is 13, THANK GOD! Or I could tell you that I haven’t had to deal with a potty training toddler in ages. Maybe I could tell you that if I were ever to get pregnant again my first appointment would be with Dr. Kevorkian. But another pregnancy will never happen thanks to a friend of mine that’s a wonderfully skilled doctor. He gave into my throwing myself on the floor of his office, begging, pleading and crying for a hysterectomy. Thank God for Brian.

I had my oldest daughter’s kids over Thursday night and Friday. It actually went pretty well until my 2 year old, potty training granddaughter came up to me while I was applying my make up and said, “Nana I have to poop.” My first thought was, “Oh Lord God why did this have to happen on my watch?”

I don’t do poop. I don’t do vomit and I don’t do boogers, spit or snot. Been there, tried to do it and it just doesn’t work for me, or the poor kid. I was, and still am, the kind of mom that would throw a sick kid a bucket and a wet rag and say, “Dad will be home soon.”

But this was Anna-Grace. Beautiful, little, semi-sweet Anna-Grace. I was the only one around and I sure as hell wasn’t about to do poopy underwear. Being a better Nana than a mom, I pulled down her little panties and sat her little fat butt on the toilet.

Then it happened, noises that could rival the 300 pound man that had just won the chili dog eating contest at the local county fair. If you ever saw “Dumb and Dumber” you know what I mean. If you haven’t I’ve put in a little sample to set the scene.




The kid had diarrhea. Not just diarrhea, but explosive diarrhea and there was no one to deal with it but me. There was going to be shit everywhere, all over the little smiling cherub and all over my toilet. Not only was I going to have to clean her, I was going to have to survey the damage in the offended porcelain fixture.

I could feeling it coming. My eyes began to water and my stomach began to rise. See, I’m gaggy, really gaggy. I’m so gaggy that I’m the one that usually ends up puking. The seconds until she was finished seemed like hours.

I had to leave the bathroom and wait for the dreaded words, “I’m done Nana.” I wasn’t sure how I could go back in to take care of her. The odor was wafting out into the bedroom. I was retching. I was crying.

I had flashbacks of my Dad having to change my brother’s dirty cloth diapers. Dad would have some sort of make shift mask wrapped tightly around his face in an attempt to keep the smell from reaching his nostrils. It never quite worked. Dad would toss the crap filled cloth diaper in the trash can while running from my poor diaperless brother. It would be several minutes before Dad could compose himself to finish the job and have Eric cleaned, usually by holding him under the faucet, diapered and on his way.

I was at the foot of my bed looking at the sweet face, framed with brown curls, smiling at me from around the corner. I knew what I had to do.  I had to take in a breath deep enough to get the job done without having to breathe in the toxic fog while I was in there.

I was able to get Anna-Grace cleaned up with that one breath, then I happened to glance in the toilet. I started to gag, not just gag, but uncontrollably gag to the point that I had a feeling I was going to lose it.

I grabbed up the baby and sprinted out of the bathroom. I sat her down, caught my breath and formulated a plan to get back into the bathroom to flush the toilet. It wasn’t helping matters that I was continuing to gag. Dammit Dad! Why did I get your weak stomach?

There was only one plan I could come up with and that was to take another deep breath and close my eyes. No way was I going to chance seeing what had just come out of my granddaughter one more time.

I dashed in, flushed the toilet and dashed out, stubbing my toe in the process. I also got a whiff of what was left of the baby's intestinal contents. Forget my make up, I wasn’t going back in that bathroom for the rest of the day. And Nana has a new rule: no more kids can stay until they can wipe their own bottoms!