That Time I Gave My Son an Enema

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.

About Pavowski

I am a teacher, runner, father, and husband. I am an author-in-progress. I know just enough about a lot of things to get me into a lot of trouble. View all posts by Pavowski

4 responses to “That Time I Gave My Son an Enema

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