Fifty Shades of Poo

Poo. Poop. Caca. Crap. Sh!t.   Every parent, from those raising typical kids to those with special-needs children can share a poop story or two.  We autism parents can easily share loads more can-you-believe-it poop stories.  Kim Stagliano did even better:  her crapisode made it into the Urban Dictionary!

This stuff rules our day.  It ruins our nights.  No bother.  We get used to cleaning it up.  You want to know colors, textures, quantity and quality of your kids’ poop?  Just ask us.  We know all about it, and some of us actually don’t mind talking about it.  Don’t hate.  It comes with the job of raising these kids of ours.

There’s nothing funny about poop.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  Here’s a story that will make your toes curl.  It’s from a long time ago, but tops as one of my favorite poop stories to tell.

My boys woke before 8 am on a weekend, a cardinal sin in our household.  Add that my husband was sick and didn’t fall asleep until 4 am from coughing all night long, and you’ll understand how tired we all were.

I had three little ones in diapers at the time:  Little Buddy, age two and a half, was needy and cranky; Ronan, three years old, was wild and very ‘stimmy’; the smallest one in diapers was the baby, still so wee and cuddly.  Sleep was hard to come by on a normal night.  Being woken up too early on the weekend added stress and a higher level of crankiness.

I peeled myself out of bed when I heard the boys wake.  I got them both occupied with activities in the playroom hoping my two girls would stay asleep.  Thinking I could grab a few minutes more of sleep, I fell into a heap on the couch in the living room.

Flicky McFlicksomuch, aka Ronan, wanted to turn the lights on and off, and on and off, and on and off.  He was in the full throes of some gut issue causing some intense OCD behavior.  Ronan went from room to room flicking light switches, laughing each time the light went on and then off.  I knew I’d never fall back to sleep with him focusing on the three-panel light switch just a few feet from the couch.  I got up and found a roll of tape.  I went from room to room, and light switch to light switch, taping every switch to the off position.  Ronan freaked out.  He yelled, cried and then started chewing on his fingers.  He screamed so loudly in retaliation, as I moved to the dining room with the tape roll, that my little girls were now awake.  So was my husband who had finally fallen asleep in the guest bedroom.

Meanwhile, Little Buddy who was slowly slipping into sensory processing issues had made himself busy in the playroom.  He shut the door on the noise, the light flicking and impending madness that filled our house.  Ronan went back to his bedroom to find something else to stim on.  I went to my bedroom where the baby was to nurse her.  I nestled into the rocking chair and closed my eyes while holding the baby.  Ahhh, a moment of peace.  Maybe I could get through the morning without wishing I had a magic wand to make things quieter or to *poof* disappear.

Off in the distance someone started to cry.  It’s not a pain-filled cry.  It’s not a hurry-up-and-come-find-me cry.  It’s a long drawn out cry full of sadness, disappointment, and a little bit of woe.  I detached the nursing baby from my boob and raced across the house.  Following the cry to Ronan’s room, I stood in the doorway and laughed.  The silly little dingdong had climbed back into his crib and couldn’t get out.  I contemplated leaving Ronan in the crib for a few minutes longer.  Maybe I could nurse the baby in peace.  Maybe I’d have one less kid to chase.  Maybe I’d even get to eat breakfast before noon.  Should I leave him there?  Can I pretend I didn’t see him?  Nah, out he came. I gave Ronan a quick hug, patted him on the head, and plopped him back into the chaos that was our weekend morning.

I grabbed a quick bowl of cereal for myself once I finished nursing the baby.  She was snuggling with some toys on her blanket, safe, happy and quiet.  I set out to clean up breakfast dishes and the wake of toys the boys had managed to spread out from the playroom to the living room.  Everyone was finally happy.  It was time we get a move on our day, or at least move on from the madness.

I detected a different sort of movement.  Movement of the bowels that is.  Both of the boys started to pass gas around the same time.  Since they’d both been constipated I thought yay, we’ve got poop!  Poop is on the way!  Bring on the poop!

You cheer for poop, too, right?

Well, instead of cheering I should have gotten the diapering stuff ready.  Ronan had quelled his light flicking for the moment but had only switched one OCD activity for another.  Light turning on and off would no longer do.  He discovered the water dispenser on the fridge.   Water was more interesting. And it was more immediate as he sought the cause-effect reaction.  He’d flooded a small portion of the kitchen during the brother poop-a-thon, so I grabbed a dish towel to lay over the water.  Thinking I’d come back to clean up that spill while I changed at least one boy’s diaper I spied something else on the floor.  How’d this get there, I thought?  Thinking Ronan had dropped a piece of cookie I bent down to grab it.  Ronan squatted down at the same time trying to pick it up too.  That’s when I saw another ‘cookie bit’ on to the floor. And another.  This small bit was soft and squishy and warm and ohmygosh, it wasn’t a cookie!  It was a small piece of poo!

Holy crap! Lit’rally!  I screamed.  Ronan squealed.  I tried to move Ronan away, but he grabbed the poop and ran off with it when I screamed.  Crap!

I finally caught up to Ronan this time with the diaper pad, diaper and wipes with me.  He resisted the diaper change, laughing at me while I struggled.  I said, “Come on, Buddy.  When you have a poop I need to change you.”  I managed to finally get him undressed.  Thank goodness, because it smelled like a grown man had dropped a load in every room.  I prepared myself for a doozy as I peeled back the diaper.  I was stunned.  Ronan’s diaper was dry as a bone.  What was going on?


My husband was trying to help despite his massive cold and pounding headache.  He’d heard me ask my oldest daughter to gather the things I needed, and offered to grab one boy while I chased another.  I looked up to see my husband lunging after Little Buddy as he ran around the living room.  We both realized, the more our younger son ran, that it was his diaper that was filled with toxic poo!  Not only was it full, but it was spilling out undetected, and all over the place.

I’m still wrestling Ronan, trying to now get his clean diaper back on.  Poor Ronan has no idea why I’m yelling, “No, no, no, NO, NO, NO!” toward his little brother, who thought it more fun to dodge Daddy each time he reached for the terrorizing two-year old.

I’m freaking out.  Ronan is sobbing.  My husband is in such a brain fog, getting dizzier and dizzier trying to catch Little Buddy.  Little Buddy is laughing with each lap he can make around the living room furniture while his still poop-dropping diaper sags lower and lower.

My husband catches up to Little Buddy, so I toss him a clean diaper and the wipes.  We look at each other and don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I’m too tired to do either.  I get Ronan out of sight, and am stunned at how many poop pellets fell from my child’s diaper.  At least most of them landed on the hard-wood floors. I concentrate on getting Little Buddy cleaned up as my husband rests on the couch. He used up every bit of energy he had to corner Little Buddy to stop running, but has no energy to clean him up.

A diaper change is fruitless for Little Buddy, so I end up throwing him into the bathtub.  No amount of wipes will clean up the smears of poop on his legs, bum, tummy and back.  The smell that lingered on his skin stings the eyes. I double and triple dip him in the soapy bathwater hoping that the dead-animal like smell can be removed. But, at least he pooped, right?

While I have Little Buddy in the tub my husband sets off to the living room, dining room, kitchen and family room to search for the ‘cookie bit’ poop particles.  He finds enough to fill half a diaper.  Yay, for poop.

I drain the bathtub, redress Little Buddy in a clean outfit and flop on the couch again. It’s only 9:38am.  Is it too early to go back to bed?

Most Mini-Thinkers started out as Mini-Stinkers. Can you top that story?  Share your best poop memory with us. The more loaded the better.


~ Mamacita

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14 Responses to Fifty Shades of Poo

  1. MamaBear says:

    Cat: laughing while remembering MD’s advice after Wed appendectomy that part of my recovering involves returning to regular pooping. Maybe I should share this story when she asks me, so did you poop?

  2. Kitty says:

    first off at Sue and Jan, thank you for the laugh! I swear my husband must think I’m nuts listening to me laugh while I sit at the computer.

    Now for my code brown story (that’s my favorite term). Jonathan was constantly constipated! It was a never ending cycle of NO poop, us waiting, him straining and then him releasing an anaconda. So towards one of the cycles ends my hubby and I were trying to help Jonathan poop. We would lay him down and help him put his feet up to go. Poor kid we could see his perinium bulging. We always kept a diaper under him to catch his glorious prize. Usually the pooping took awhile, lots of coaching, pushing, praying, not this time. A giant turd shot out and hit me square in the knee. I was momentarily stunned, it was so gross but he was so miserable. I just didn’t have a second to spare for my yuck factor. We cleaned up and luckily we’re out of that phase now but I’ll never forget that code brown.

  3. Jan Martin says:

    This blog post was great! I think we can all identify with having had some poop-scapade or another. My son had poop accidents in his pants until he was 8 years old. It didn’t matter where or when, you’d smell something ripe and off to some public restroom I went with wipes that I kept in my purse. I can’t recall how many pairs of underwear I threw out in a public restroom because it was better to buy new ones that attempt to clean those streaks! Not to mention I wasn’t putting those in my purse and walking through the store. I think for me our funniest poop story involved my husbands towel. He always hung the towel he would use for his showers on the towel bar in the bathroom (not me, I was smart enough to hand my on the hook behind the door), said towel bar is across from the toilet. One day I remember him bringing out his towel to ask me what the brown streaks were and why it smelled so rank. It turns out my son was wiping his butt on dad’s towel because he hated the feel of toilet paper! I had a seriously hard time not laughing because I am the one who changed 8 years of crappy pants and streaked underwear. Thankfully we have been accident free for 2 years.

  4. Julie says:

    Oh and by the way, after this lovely post and my comment above, you can guess what happened! She had a poop and decided to reach in and check it out. She hasn’t done this in a long time. I blame the blog, lol!!!!

    • Mamacita says:

      Ack! SO sorry 🙂

      My oldest read the story out loud to Little Buddy (who is now 8). Both of them were howling at this memory of mine. Their laughter was a perfect way to end the really tiring day I had. One awesome thing that also made my day…Ronan put on a rubber glove from the diaper changing area, something he’s never done. He showed me the glove, gave it to me, clapped when I put it on and then stood up so I could check his diaper. It was full of poo. Yay, for poop!

  5. Mamacita says:

    Glass of wine with breakfast = best belly laugh I have had in awhile!

    I so needed that laugh. Thank you!

    ~ Mamacita

  6. Charise Cole says:

    My sweet boy has some serious sensory issues and is a BIG pooper a minimum of two times a day. One day I went upstairs to check an e-mail while my son was happily engaged in Curious George. From upstairs I caught a whiff of cauliflower gone bad and decided to go downstairs. Unbeknownst to me my darling two year old boy had an enormous poop that was apparently uncomfortable and he was desperately reaching into his diaper (by reaching under his onesie) and decided to peel the poop off his bum. However, he didn’t like the sensation of his poop on his hands and thus decided to remove the poop from his hands onto the sofa, the walls, the floor, himself, etc. Every square inch of my son’s playroom was covered in poop and this was done in just under 5 minutes. It took about 2 hours to clean it all up. That was the first time I had a glass of wine with breakfast.

  7. Although Ryan is still not potty trained, we do at least have the poop sitch mostly under control…but had more days than I can count of poop smears caused by him taking the poop out of his pull-up to throw it in the toilet–poop goes in the toilet, right? He would often miss the toilet or plop it down on the seat and then look for places to “clean” the poop off his hands–hence the smears. Sometimes the poop would end up on the floor, Ryan would step on it and I would have the footprints to clean. The best part was that Ryan had the opposite problem from being constipated–he would poop 5 to 6 times a day. He’s non-verbal and very quiet and would slip off to poop and “self care”. I feel your pain!!

  8. Julie says:

    I don’t know that I can top that, but I have had a recent one with my 7 year old. She has been learning to tell us when she’s having a poop. She’ll grunt and grab the crotch of her diaper. So one day she does this and I check it. But there was no poop, so I said “Mina, it’s just a pee. There’s no poop.” I take off her pee diaper and go into the kitchen to get the stuff to wipe her down….I figured, “why not?” I come back in, and there she is, dropping poop after poop out of her hiney like a horse on a parade trail! Right on the blanket where she puts her face (kids with Down Syndrome like to fold in half and sleep sometimes….’cause they can, lol!). Ugh! I was just so mortified!

  9. Tired mom says:

    ah, yes, I know this so well. Last night after a long period of reprieve, we had another crapicode. I thought we were well beyond that stage but nooooo. My son decided instead of peeling himself away from the TV that it would be easier to defecate in the waste basket next to the bed. He even, ever so thoughtfully, decorated the window for me. Nice. God forbid he miss 2 minutes of precious cartoon network to go use the bathroom. Ah, the tell tale odor. Once again I grabbed disinfectant, paper towels and swifter for another room washdown and just as I was turning out the light my eyes catch a dark glob high up on the wall that I somehow missed. “Nooooo!!!!!” I close my eyes and repeat my mantra “That which does not kill me makes me stronger” (repeat X 10). These are only stories I only dare share with other autism parents. I don’t know anyone else who would understand.

  10. Sue Cranmer says:

    I worked night shift when my son was young and still in diapers. For a while, his favorite thing to do when he had a poopy diaper was to scoop it out and finger paint on his bedroom window. His bedroom was on the front of the apartment we lived in. I arrived home one morning, too exhausted to see straight, husband and son already gone and fell into bed. At some point during that day, the apartment manager was doing a walk around inspection and knocked on my door. I answered it, half asleep, looking, I am sure like a cross between a zombie and a witch. She said, “I was just wondering what was all over the front bedroom window?” I replied, “Probably shit” and slammed the door in her face and went back to bed. They never bothered me again.

  11. Saint says:

    Oh my goodness Mamacita. I love you soooo much. This story made me laugh so hard all while I just wanted to run right in to help you and hug you. You amaze me in how you juggle everything the way you do. xoxox

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