I try not to gag as I jiggle the last pair of underwear in the toilet, wishing I had a pipe connected to the washing machine as I wring them out. "Your going to have a to wear a diaper for a while, all your underwear is dirty" I inform my three year old son, Logan. "I WANT UNDERWEAR!!" the cherubic dictator informs me
"Well, there aren't any left," I point to the growing pile of soggy underwear and pants sitting next to the toilet. Reasoning with this cherubic little dictator is like having a tea party with a terrorist. He screams and begins failing around on the floor. I wrestle him to the ground trying to put on a diaper. Then I follow him around for fifteen minutes putting it back on before he finally relents and wears it. I get up sweating and grab my weapons a pack of wipes and a can of disenfectant. I begin the procedure for Project Decontamination which by now I have down to a science. Floors mopped? Check. Walls scrubbed? Check. Hand sanitized? Check. The rug in this bathroom hasn't made it more than four hours without being targeted. By now the minute it hears the pitter patter of little feet it probably starts shivering and tries to hide, with good reason.
I knew that toileting could become an issue when my husband was deployed but I didn't know I was going to be put in as a full time recruit for the PP-Poop Patrol. I feel like I am constantly in radar mode-trying to second guess my son's digestion. I stand outside the bathroom door trying to promote mission success with preventative measures with some success but often at the price of a forty minute tantrum.
Operation TTOL (Toliet Training of Logan) hasn't got a specific time line for completion. Spirits at this point are high for the opposition (Score Logan 50, Mom, 0). I try not to be bogged down by the status reports by the Logistics Dept., that reminds me we have been working on this mission for over a year now. It can be a little exhausting when you are running the 50 pound carpet cleaner every couple of hours....on a daily basis. I finally began just leaving it in the hall because I had to keep dragging it back out of the closet. The morale of the Poop Patrol has been running a little low due to the number of casualties on the carpet, walls, towels, rugs, floor etc.
I take a deep breath as I kneel in a puddle of something wet. Water spilled from a cup would be welcome but a short sniff confirms my suspicions. "Now hear this, now hear this, FLASH FLOOD WARNINGS are now in effect in area 3B!! Duty calls for PP gotta run, poncho anyone?
