I'm Clearly Unqualified For This Position

This morning, BB decided to crawl into the bathroom with me. Since I am a member of the over-connected generation, I was scrolling through Facebook on my phone. That's why it took me a second to realize that the sound I was hearing was splashing.

Let me back up. BB has reached the age wherein splashing liquid is a major form of entertainment. Most days will find the dog's water bowl spilled over the floor and a drenched and unrepentant BB sitting in the puddle with a shit-eating grin on his face. (And, as you will see, that particular metaphor has now taken on horrifying implications.)

Though BB's big brother LO has reached an age and a height wherein he can basically reach the actual toilet unassisted, he still likes using the little potty. It's *his.*

This morning, LO had made his usual deposit of micturition upon waking. I had not yet emptied the potty.

You see where this is going. Let us now return to the splashing sound I was hearing.

The second I realized what I was going on, I paused my own constitutional and immediately threw the child into the bathtub and turned on the water full force. BB was wearing nothing but a diaper at the time, which I unfastened but otherwise left on. I figured I could get him out of the diaper and clean him up once I had completed my own bathroom errand.

I was washing my hands preparatory to beginning the process of de-grossifying my child when I saw something horrifying. The diaper had filled with liquid and drifted away from the child, revealing the fact that BB had beshat it at some point. The tub was rapidly filling with floating turds. Which BB was reaching for, fascinated.

I screamed at him to stop, and got him out of the tub and into the sink before anything happened that both BB and I would be in therapy about for the next 30 years.

Thankfully, that ended the elimination portion of our morning's entertainment.

I scrubbed BB from stem to stern in the sink, and was pleased to see him reaching for the bar of soap on the counter.

Once the child was clean (although there's a part of me that worries he may be forever unclean), I rediapered him and got to work setting fire to the bathroom and putting the house on the market bleaching the bathroom within an inch of its life.

I fished the diaper out of the tub and put it in a garbage bag.

BB reached for the diaper.

I put it out of his reach.

Turd-cleaning the tub progressed with bleach and paper towels.

BB reached for the begrimed paper towels.

I started wondering if there was something seriously wrong with my poop-fascinated child as I put the paper towels out of his reach.

Once the tub was clean(er), I emptied LO's potty and bleached it, despite the fact that urine is sterile to begin with. Having already learned that BB's gross-meter is out of whack, I did this as far out of his reach as possible. BB looked disappointed.

Finally, everything was as clean as better-living-through-chemistry can ensure (although I did wish I knew where to find a flame-thrower), and BB and I are now relaxing in the living room, where, as far as I know, there is no shit for him to play with.

It's only 8:30, but I think I need to go back to bed.

"What? It's just a potato. Get your mind out of the gutter."