Saturday night, Rolf gave Will his bath. This is a fairly unusual occurrence, as I usually bathe Will and Rolf takes care of the tooth-brushing and bedtime stories. We switch out every now and then, though.
I was in the living room, surfing the internet and enjoying a few moments free of Will responsibility. The boys were in the bathroom, and I could hear Will splashing and playing happily. Suddenly, Rolf called me to help. I jumped up and rushed in there. Rolf was holding a naked Will out to me to take and dress. I asked him what was wrong. His response was, "Will pooped in the tub. He just leaned over, grunted, and there it was." I had to laugh. I knew the day would come, and I always assumed it would happen to me. I guess Will figured that since daddy thinks farting is funny, he'd think pooping was even funnier.
I know it won't be the last time this happens, but for now, I'm glad I've escaped it. One of my most vivid memories is taking a bath with my sister when she was maybe 2, reaching for the soap in the water, and grabbing hold of poop instead. I remember screaming bloody murder and scaring both of my parents into the bathroom to see what was wrong. It traumatized me when I was 7. It's funny how things change when you become a parent. When we were first married, Rolf told me he didn't think he could change any dirty diapers because his sense of smell was so sensitive. I can't imagine he'd ever dreamed he would be fishing poop out of the bathtub someday. Bodily functions just become something else to take care of when you are responsible for another human being. I had no problems changing my Granny's colostomy bag, either. It's just something you do if someone you love needs your help.
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