One fine day before Christmas, Son #2 was enjoying a warm and refreshing bath. He played with his duckies and choo choo trains. He tossed the wash cloths out onto the floor. Son #2 was having a grand old time.
Sometimes, I laughed and talked to him as he played. Other times, I would browse through a magazine. While flipping through the magazine pages, I happened to look up and noticed Son #2 had stopped playing.
There he stood, hands gripping the edge of the tub. His face was tense and slightly red. He made little grunting noises. For a second, I wondered what was happening. Then, I realized he was about to poop in the tub.
NOOOOOO!!!!!! NOT POOP IN THE TUB!!!!!!
I scrambled to grab Son #2 before the poo splashed into the water. As I lifted him into the air, I glanced at his rear below and beheld a turd about to fall. Quickly, I rushed him to the potty chair.
______!!!!!! THE LID WAS DOWN!!!!!!
My foot fumbled with the lid of the potty chair as I held Son #2 in outstretched arms. The lid finally lifted and I swooped him toward the seat. Just before he landed, the turd fell in an arc to the floor.
I hung my head in defeat.
Son #2 laughed and clapped on the potty.
I reached for toilet paper and cleaning supplies.
I guess I should be grateful that the poop had a near miss with the tub and not a direct hit.