Nope, never mind. I can’t blarg about this. It’s too gross even for me. There’s nothing funny about violating the butthole of a two-year-old with a tiny plastic tube.
Okay, on second thought, maybe there is. Just not perhaps the kind of funny you want.
But there’s definitely nothing funny about the boy walking around with a look on his face like he’s just been told that Popsicles are made out of horses as he squeezes off tiny little duck-quack farts with every step.
…Again, perhaps it’s not the right kind of funny.
Look, there was definitely a scene. There were towels on the floor and a lot of screaming. There was talk of breaking out the puppy housebreaking pads. I can’t remember if it was the boy screaming or my wife or myself, but it was high-pitched and plaintive. I was really concerned about the state of the tub at one point. There may or may not have been comparisons to Georgia red clay and mud-hut bricks.
But it was too gross to write about, so this is me not writing about it.
Day two of editing is underway. Like jumping into a freezing cold pool, it’s not so bad once you actually get in the water. More to come later.
It’s hard to focus with all this poop I’m not writing about.
4 thoughts on “That Time I Gave My Son an Enema”
[…] hundred percent lodged in the kid’s business, and that’s literal as well as figurative (see this post which is not about giving enemas to a toddler). Partly because frankly my wife and I need a little bit of backup every now and then and the […]
[…] fact: one of the most viewed, and the most-searched topics that lands new people at the blarg, is this post about giving my son an enema. Which goes to show, I guess, that my novel needs more poop […]
[…] start off very clear. The post that gathers all this traffic is this one, in which I talked about how I wasn’t going to talk about the time I gave my son an enema, […]
[…] been a constant head-scratcher ever since I penned it, but the story I didn’t write about giving my son an enema never seems to leave the top […]