Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased with how clearly Muffin speaks for a just-turned- 3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the volume. It’s always fully cranked. Oh joy.

There have been several embarrassing times that I’ve wished the meaning of his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last week at SeaWorld. I had to go pee. So, I wheeled Muffin’s stroller into the restroom stall with me and went about my business. While I’m mid-stream, Muffin says (in his sonic boom toddler voice), “Are you going BIG MASSIVE poop on the potty, Mommy?”

Cringe. “No, Muffin, Mommy’s going pee.” To which Muffin replies excitedly, “BIG MASSIVE pee?!!!”

The restroom was packed, of course. I think I may have even heard a snicker or two.

Where is the fine print in the Motherhood Contract, where I signed away every bit of my dignity and privacy? Lately it seems, more often than not, that I have a 38 inch tall shadow (with verbose running commentary) accompanying me wherever I go. Even when urinating, showering, dressing – you name it. There’s nothing like being able to share the running commentary of your pee process in the company of strangers.

Ah Motherhood.

But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he leaned back and grabbed his sippy cup with his chubby little hands, I thought, I’d sign all my dignity and privacy away again, just to be known as Mommy to this little guy.

Poor Muffin has been having problems going poop. He potty trained like a champ but he has a bit of a shy bowel, it seems. Ever since we pulled the diapers, he will go 2-4 days without pooping, whereas he used to go once per day. We know he has to poop because he runs around like a little man possessed. I almost expect to see the infamous 360 degree head spin from the exorcist. Fortunately, it’s not that bad. Yet. However, he literally does wind-sprints in the living room.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

For like eight hours.

No, unfortunately I’m not kidding.

No amount of sitting him down on the toilet to just relax and read a book seems to work. He needs to be ready…like within-seconds-of-Mr. Poop-making-his-appearance ready. Little dude cuts it close. He hasn’t had an accident though.

Unfortunately by stopping his body from going poop, he’s making himself constipated. I’ve been trying various things to get him more regular but nothing seems to be working very well. We recently had Muffin’s 3 year well-check and so I asked his pediatrician what we can do to help him go poop more easily and more often. He suggested prunes. Already tried it – he won’t eat them. The ped also suggested more fiber. Already do it – Muffin has a lot of fiber in his diet (we should buy stock in Kashi). So, our ped then suggested Milk of Magnesia. We had not yet brought out the big guns, so last night, after a very trying day with Muffin darting everywhere like a madman, we tried it.

Now, if you’ve ever had Milk of Magnesia you will know that it tastes like chalk. So, we selected the cherry flavored one. Which tastes like cherry flavored chalk. Not very palatable for a 3 year old. Getting Muffin to eat broccoli suddenly seems like a breeze in comparison to getting him to drink 1 tsp of this crap. He took a taste and decided it was not at all the delicious treat mommy and daddy had advertised. So I thought, WWMPD? A spoonful of sugar! Hmmm, pretty good but that’s not quite right for my dear sweet picky Muffin. Maybe I should think more like Lex Luther. Aha! The kryptonite of my little Muffin Man is…ice cream. So, out came the ice cream and that business got done! A chaser of chocolate ice cream in return for a sip of cherry flavored chalk. Needless to say that Muffin is crafty and that little cup of 1 tsp of Milk of Magnesia took about 5 sips (and, of course, 5 ice cream chasers) before it was finished.

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I’m on a roll. Since we’ve broken the ice now, and are on the subject of penises…

The other day my husband took our newly potty-trained Muffin into a public urinal to go potty. Side-by-side the two boys peed and my son looks over at Daddy and then down at himself, and then back to Daddy and says, “That’s a big penis.” It made my husband’s day.

Well, I am one for teaching proper words for private parts (like penis is “penis” and not “pee pee” or “wee wee”, etc.) but I have to say that the v-word doesn’t roll off my tongue very easily. Nevertheless, I said, “Mommy doesn’t have a penis because mommy is a girl and girls have v…va…vaginas.” He looked at me quizzically, and then down at my lady parts again and said, “Oh, okay.” And that was it. He was satisfied by my answer. I, however, was not. I didn’t realize I was quite so squeamish about the v-word. I must get over this now that Madam Poopsalot is on the scene and I’ll be using that dreaded v-word more often.

1. Poops.
2. Gets wiped up and a clean diaper is part-way on (or, more tragically, still en route to her buttocks and she’s fully exposed and the whole changing pad and/or wall and/or mommy gets it).
3. Diaper #2 gets tossed and baby gets cleaned again.
4. Diaper #3 is on it’s way on and now the fountain of pee comes shooting across and Diaper #3 (and anything else in the path of destruction) meets it’s match. Yes, girls can get some serious distance too. Who knew!?!
5. Baby gets cleaned and diaper #4 is successful. Mommy needs a glass of wine.

Madam Poopsalot is a champion pooper but not in the area of poop consolidation, I’m afraid. My son was the same way when he was an infant. It’s like all babies are born knowing the same rules of pooping:

Baby Poop Rule #1: Thou shalt poop in the first diaper just enough to necessitate a diaper change, but reserve enough to dirty the second (or third) diaper immediately thereafter. Both my children seem to like a fresh canvas to do their work.

Baby Poop Rule #2: Thou shalt hold your poop until Mom has got you dressed and strapped into your car seat and is about to go somewhere important, for which she is already running 10 mins late.

Baby Poop Rule #3: Thou shalt poop mid-diaper change, preferably when your bottom is being lifted to put a diaper under it so as to maximize the possibility of the messiest trajectory of poop at the farthest distance possible. Poor Raising Daddy knows what I mean about this one…

Baby Poop Rule #4: Thou shalt have a Blowout Poop at the most inopportune time in the most inopportune place (ie. airplane when mommy doesn’t have a change of clothes for you or for herself and she is stuck in the middle seat between two strangers who don’t have children and now never will, if they can help it!!!).

Epilogue:  Fret not…the story ends well in that there happened to be no one else in the bathroom at the time of The Incident and, thanks to D’s speediness, her daughter did not have enough time to escape more than a few feet from the bathroom door and was thus safe.

P.S.  If Bathroom Stories or Bathroom Etiquette is your thing, check out the website for The International Centre for Bathroom Etiquette at www.icbe.org