Oh, Super Boy... Someday - probably when you're a rebellious teenager, with my luck - you're going to find out that your good ol' mom posted this for all the World Wide Web to view, and you will rebel against me with renewed vigor. Well, have at it, kid, because this stuff is just too good of blog fodder to pass up. You know I love you though. Always and forever, no matter what. ;)
The other day, Super Boy and I were in the kitchen making his Valentines for his classmates. This was taking us quite a bit of time because we opted to hand-make the Valentines this year.
Pretty much right after we started, Super Boy said he had to go potty and bolted into the half-bathroom just off the kitchen. This is not so uncommon. However, once he was safely ensconced in the bathroom, he locked the door. He does this from time to time, but usually only when he's up to a little mischief -- or when he has done something in his pants that he doesn't want Mom to see. My mom instincts were on high alert.
"Hey, baby? What are you doing in there?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Nothing, Mom. I've got it under control, don't worry," came his firm little 4-year-old voice through the door.
"What have you got under control?" I asked, hoping to trap him into a confession.
"It's nothing, Mom. Seriously. I just needed some privacy."
For Pete's sake, this kid is only FOUR and he's already talking to me like I'M the child.
I decided to sit back and see how the whole thing played out. I heard the toilet flush and then the sound of running water, and smiled at the knowledge that Super Boy has finally figured out - without reminder - that he MUST wash his hands after going potty, because I will check to see if his hands "smell fresh."
What seemed like an eternity later, Super Boy raced back out of the bathroom and up onto his stool at the counter to continue working on the Valentines. I asked, "Did you go pee or poop?"
He replied, "Poop."
"And did you wipe good?"
"Yep - I did a good job, Mom," he answered with a serious tone and expression on his face.
All is well. Until five minutes later, when I see Super Boy squirming on his stool and then pulling at the seat of his pants.
"Dude, what's going on?" I asked.
"Nothing." He continues to pluck at the butt of his pants. We continue working.
Two minutes later, he leaps back off his stool and says, "Hold on a second. I have to go into the bathroom again, but DON'T bug me - I need privacy."
I waited a few minutes before bugging him again. (See, I don't listen at all.) "Hey, baby? What's going on, and do you need some help?"
"No, Mom - I've got it under control. I'll be out in a minute."
I heard no sounds of toilets flushing or hands being washed, so my curiosity was entirely piqued, and not in a good way. After a few minutes, Super Boy emerged.
"So... what was that all about?" I asked.
"Nothing." Super Boy got back on his stool and went to work, ignoring me.
"Super Boy, listen - tell me what's going on. Did you poop in your pants? Did you not wipe good? What's the deal?" I asked, getting a little frustrated at his blatant stonewalling.
"It's nothing, Mom. My underwear got screwed up, that's all," he said, very matter-of-factly. (I should mention that my little boy says "underwear" more like "undawear," like he forgets the first "r" is in there, and it's really, really cute. You need to imagine him saying it that way as you read on...)
I bit down on my lower lip to attempt to hold in the laugh that threatened to break free at any moment. "Oh. Okay, then. Is it all under control now?"
"Yep. Good as new!"
We proceeded with our Valentine-making endeavors, chatting amiably as we traced, cut and glued our way to fabulous Valentines. Twenty minutes later, the squirming began anew, and then Super Boy hopped off the stool yet again and bolted to the bathroom (and yes, he locked the door again, too). I'd had it.
"Honey. Do you have a tummyache or something?"
"Then WHAT is going on?" A million - bad- possibilities ran through my mind.
"NOTHING! I'll handle it," he shouts through the door.
This time, I heard water running not once, but several times. My mind spun with all the possibilities. What the hell is he doing in there?!?
When at last Super Boy came out, he said, "All better, Mom!"
I turned around and saw that Super Boy had large wet areas on his pants. I was thoroughly perplexed. I looked at him, trying to find the right words. His sweet little face was turned up to me, an innocent smile on his face, and a question in his big brown eyes.
"Sweetheart... why are your pants all wet?" I asked, dreading the answer even as the words came out.
"Well..." He stopped, unable to find the right way to explain The Situation. I waited with eyebrows raised, an expectant look on my face. "Well, Mom, I had a little poop mess."
I couldn't help it. I laughed. Out loud. Come on, can you blame me?
"What do you mean by a 'little' poop mess? Does that mean you pooped in your pants 'a little' or did you not wipe good? Or... what?" I asked, trying desperately to stop laughing, because my poor little man's expression was quickly changing to one of shame.
"Well, I think I didn't wipe very good, because there was just a little, tiny poop mess in my underwear," he explained, using his inherited-from-his-father hand gestures to illustrate the small size of the infamous "poop mess" to me. "Just a little bit, Mom."
The kid was killing me.
"So, that still doesn't explain why your pants are all wet," I said slowly, trying to piece it all together in my head.
"Well, when I saw the little poop mess, I figured I could clean it up!" He said this with such pride it broke my heart. "So I took off my pants and then my underwear, and I rinsed my underwear." He smiled up at me. I doubled over and bit my lip so hard it nearly bled. This was just too funny!!
"You rinsed your underwear? Where, in the sink?"
"And then... you put it back on?" A loud guffaw escaped.
"Yep! Wasn't that good, Mama?" he asked me, starting to wonder if perhaps his plan may have been a bit flawed as his water-logged underwear continued to soak his pants.
I actually had to walk out of the room. I held up a finger to let him know I'd be back in a second, went into the office and busted out into body-shaking silent laughter as the tears streamed down my face. He was too darn cute!
I returned to the kitchen still fighting the giggles and said, "Baby, it was really good that you tried to take care of the mess on your own; Mom's proud of you for doing the best you could. But... now you're wearing soggy underpants and they're getting your pants all wet, so let's just go upstairs and change your pants and underwear, okay?" He happily grabbed my hand as we marched up the stairs together, water trickling down his legs, leaving a trail behind us.
When we got to the upstairs bathroom, I stripped him down, washed him up (and made sure "the poop mess" was all gone!) and dressed him in fresh underwear and pants. Super Boy said, "Boy, does THAT feel good to get some clean, dry underwear on! Thanks, Mom!" He gave me a big hug as I continued to suppress my laughter.
All of a sudden, he pulled back from me and said, "Oh yeah - I need to wash my hands again, too."
"Okay... Why?" I asked.
"Because this finger," he said, holding up the first finger on his right hand, "smells like poop."
I lost it. Completely and totally lost it and stood there bent over before my son, laughing my ass off and crying from laughing so hard. I could barely ask why said finger smelled like poop, but I managed to choke it out.
"Because I used it to clean the poop mess out of my underwear, Mom. Duh."
I love that kid...