Unexpected Number Two

A blog Sing-along

There is one reason why I don't like rolling out of bed and going on a jog. Its easier, even with 70 pounds of babies in a stroller, to go after I drink water, have coffee, feed the kids breakfast and read books. The reason why I like to wait until my body is fully awake sounds like, "Die Maria," or "Dime Arena," or "Diner Rita."
In my household there is a song one sings after being struck by an immediate urge to rush to the bathroom. After leaving the restroom, in an operatic tone, they sing, "Unexpected Number Twooooo," followed in a lower tone, "Unexpected Number Twoooo."
I am potty training George right now. It is a slow process, but were getting there. He likes to tell me he has to poop (he calls pee and poop, poop) and I prop him on the toilet. He could sit on the toilet, pop off, flush the toilet, and climb back on the potty, for an hour, without a drip of pee coming out of him. He eventually gets bored of this, and wanders away from the bathroom, then he gets struck with the urge to pee, and finds the floor the most suitable place to go.
The other day, we were eating breakfast, and I could tell George was having poop stress, and needed to use the toilet. I cleaned him up, and we went to the bathroom. As he sat on the toilet, I sat on my bed, just outside the open bathroom door, watching Real Housewives of New York Secrets Revealed. I think I was absorbed in Dorinda talking about waitressing when I noticed George walk by me and down the hall. I figured he was going to get a toy, and didn't really have to poop. I stayed sitting, feeling no urgency to follow him and throw super absorbent training pants on him.
Moments later he walked back into my room, and red faced started flexing his body. I immediately knew what he was doing, trying to push out a poop.
I screamed, "Stoooop!!" but it was too late. I lifted him under his armpits, and swung him onto the toilet. When I poked my head out of the bathroom, there it was, his turd, on the floor. Its weird seeing human poop on the floor, but it looks like dog poop, and I treated it as such.
I felt like yelling at George, "Your sister never, NEVER, took a doodoo on the ground George. I am appalled. I would keep you in diapers till your three if I didn't worry about psyche problems. I don't want you having visual memories of me wiping your butt hole while singing, 'I'll get you cleaned up. Wooo Whooo.'"

It actually wasn't super gross, more alarming. I don't have a dog, but it was on par with having to pick up doo out of the yard. I am becoming immune to anything disgusting. George is still fascinated with throwing things in the toilet, and I have to dive my hand in there once a week, and each time I get less grossed out. Hopefully I don't get to a point where I question if antibacterial soap is necessary after fishing a sopping roll of toilet paper out of the toilet. I wouldn't like to get to a point where I simply wipe the toilet water from my arm onto my pants and then pick up my burrito to take a big bite. These kids. They're ruining me. In a good way.

As promised, here is the song: