It only took 20.7 months, but my daughter has finally reached the point where she is insistent on pooping in private. A couple of vigorous hand waves and an uncomfortable grunt, and we are sent packing to the other side of the house until the deed is done. It’s one of those rarely mentioned yet still important developmental milestones that most people don’t notice – except for bathroom obsessed people like me.
I’m actually surprised that it took her this long. I’m pretty sure I required the private pooping room since birth. I’m not for the communal crap party myself. A securely locking door, a good magazine, and the glorious bathroom fan, and then I can go. Candles are excellent but optional. Matches and Lysol are required.
I’ve been known to hold it for long periods of time to avoid the always uncomfortable public poopy. In very worst case scenarios, I have taken the plunge, so to speak, but only with a couple specific requirements. Not only do I check to make sure I’m at least 2 stalls away from someone, but I strategically place my poops at times when other people are flushing. I have even flushed my own toilet out of pure and utter desperation.
The worst is when there are only one or two stalls, and someone comes in and obviously needs to go. You can see their feet tapping right in front of your stall and you know they have looked under about 14 times to see if there is actually someone in there. The more they tap the less I can go – thus making for a higher chance that they will indeed pee themselves and I will still have to poop.
And seriously, what’s up with the door knock and knob tug? That is not going to motivate anything but expletives to come pouring out of me. I promise.
I’m not sure if the public poop or the poop-at-a-friend’s house is worse. Nothing is worse than having to go at a party knowing that someone after you is going to have to endure the stench that you have attempted to cover up with whatever you can find. Yes. I have scavenged through cabinets to find anything that will smell better than my poop. I have poured shampoo, comet, and, um, perfume in the toilet to cover up the smell. Just try it - Four drops of Chanel #5 kicks the shit (or shit smell, really) out of that damn "Country Cottage" glade any day.
On really bad occasions, I have even blamed it on someone else – like it was already stinky when I got in there. “Phew. Dude, it reeks in there – I’m not sure who blew it up, but holy shit.”
Needless to say, I happily oblige when my daughter gives me the intense, eye-watering look that indicates “large shit coming now.” I hand her a Curious George anthology and exit quickly before the bomb drops.
But before I get all teary-eyed that my daughter is growing up, I have to say that while she does seek privacy, she won’t let me change the disgusting poopy diaper without a fight. So I guess you could say that while you can take the poop out of the girl, you can’t take the girl out of her poop. Go figure.