Tag Archives: poop horror stories

Glitter Pills


This one’s gonna be brief.

Because wow. I’m a pretty open-minded guy, and I always try real hard to empathize even when the opposing view doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I’m gonna go ahead and say that I don’t think I can be convinced on this one.

Apparently, they make these things called “glitter pills.” Now, I’m going to be brutally honest and admit that I’ve not done a lot of research. Nor am I going to. The thought of this research frightens me, and I’m sure it leads down dark corridors of the internet that I would rather not know about.

Because poop is a thing best left alone. Parents, I’ll grant, should be concerned with their kids’ poop. I’ve certainly been guilty of that here at the blarg (sorry about that). Doctors, nurses if you have a gastrointestinal issue, perhaps, might be clinically interested in your samples. Aside from that… ugh, why?

Why am I even talking about it? Because apparently if you take these pills your poop will sparkle.

A cursory glance at a Google search tells me is that the manufacturers of said pills claim that their product is not designed to, uh, enhance your poop. But what a further final glance through the crack in the door before I slam it shut and run in the other direction tells me is that that’s exactly what these pills are used for in most cases. SH!T GOLD, they proudly proclaim.

So, pop a pill and your insides will sparkle. Sparkly poop, sparkly pee. This will show my age, but when I read that, all I’m thinking about are kidney infections and intestinal obstructions, and a costly trip to the emergency room. But that’s a small price to pay, I suppose, for living our your fantasy of becoming a magical unicorn that literally craps rainbows.

Okay, that’s all I can stand even thinking about it. This has been a public service announcement. I just wanted you to know these things are out there. Do with that information what you will. I feel filthy even having googled the subject. I’m off for a thirty-minute, skin-searing shower. Now if I could only scrub down the inside of my brain…

 


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.


If Toddler Poop Upsets You, This Is The Part Where You Should Stop Reading


Mistakes were made tonight.

I didn’t mean to do it, okay?  I mean, it was all a blur, and then the sharknado was happening, and I had to do something.  You can’t just not do something when the sharknado happens like that.  Some situations demand action.  I’m not going to say I’m a man of action, but every now and then, even the talkers have to step up.

It was my kid.  The toddler.  You know kids.  They get into situations.  They don’t know what they’re doing, they’re just going along doing toddler things and then something horrible has happened and it’s all you can do to mop up the mess and make sure they don’t drown or fall off the jungle gym.

Yeah, he pooped in the tub tonight.  First time ever.  I know it happens.  The warm water, the relaxing bubbles, it causes an unclenching and next thing you know you’ve got some extra floaters in the tub.  It was a rough poop, too, the kind that can frighten a little kid.  One minute he’s splashing around, all smiles and foamy bubbles; the next he’s leaning over the edge of the tub and saying, with fear in his eyes, “daddy, stomach!”  And I don’t know what’s happening and then I see the first floater and I’m scooping him out of the tub and plopping him down on the kiddie potty and he’s dropping a brown softball in the little orange bowl.  Drain the tub, run him another bath, get him cleaned up, give him a popsicle.  DADDY OUT.  SITUATION HANDLED.  MIC DROP.

There’s good and bad in this.

The good is that we’ve been trying off and on for weeks to get him to take an interest in the toddler potty and he’s been about as game as a member of the A/V club at the prom, so the fact that I was able to toss him down on the bowl and have him sit and stay there long enough to complete business is pretty heartening.  It’s his first potty so we did all the requisite clapping and cheering and hugging and the showering with popsicles and candy.  I think we managed to make it clear to him that potty business is a good thing to do and that it’s in his interests to do it as much as possible in the future, but one way or another, it’s a pretty big first step for him, if a little bit later than we wanted him to take it.

The bad is that I grabbed the poop.  Like, with my bare hand.

I panicked, okay?  He was scared, it was floating, I had the clarity of thought to get him onto the potty but not the clarity of thought to, you know, not touch human feces with my bare hand.  I mean, I had to get it out of the tub, didn’t I?  I couldn’t just leave it floating there.  As a dad, there are things you just don’t do.  Also, there’s the general cleanliness of the house to think about, and cleanliness does not typically go hand-in-hand with floaters in the goldfingered tub.  It had to come out, and it had to come out immediately, and what was there to do?  I grabbed it.

There are milestones in a person’s life.  First broken bone.  First kiss.  First loss of a loved one.  Milestones and moments that, through their significance and specialness, sear themselves into your memory like old tattoos, never to be forgotten.  The day I first deliberately touched a poop with my bare hands is a day which will, unfortunately, live in infamy in my mind for the rest of my days.

Sam’s Club sells bleach in bulk, I think.  I wonder how long I can soak my hands before the bleach starts breaking down my skin.


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