As someone who has dealt with intermittent IBS throughout my adult life, I possess a treasure trove of embarrassing bathroom stories. There was that time I almost had an accident at Target while desperately searching for a restroom with my toddler in tow. Then there was the afternoon I had to pull over on a quiet country road to take care of business in the woods—because, believe it or not, there were no restrooms anywhere in upstate New York.
Yet, nothing could quite compare to that one fateful day when I found myself in a situation that would lead to a rather unexpected experience: pooping in my child’s potty.
Setting the Stage
Let me set the stage. We were having plumbing work done on our sewage system due to a persistent backup issue in my apartment. I’ve experienced sewage bubbling up in my bathtub and even the kitchen sink before; it’s a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Fortunately, the repairs seemed promising.
On that particular day, the water was turned off for the work, but I had been assured that I could still use the toilet—just not flush it. It was a school day, and with my kids out, I thought I’d manage just fine working from home.
As I sat at my laptop, chugging coffee and munching on breakfast, the plumbers came up and informed me that nothing could go into the toilet—not even a drop. Panic set in immediately. I had just eaten and was feeling the undeniable urge to go. The thought of holding it in was not an option; I’m not that composed under pressure.
A Desperate Solution
I considered walking to the pizza place down the street to use their restroom, but I wasn’t sure if they were open yet. The plumbers had mentioned it would only be a few hours until everything was back to normal, but I soon realized that was a classic understatement.
In a moment of sheer desperation, I grabbed my son’s old potty from the closet. Thinking quickly, I lined it with a plastic bag and did what I had to do. I wasn’t about to leave the evidence just sitting there! After tying up the bag and placing it in another one for good measure, I tucked it away in the closet, convinced I’d be able to dispose of it properly soon enough.
You might wonder why I didn’t just throw it in the trash outside. Well, as an apartment dweller, I felt that my adult refuse didn’t belong in a communal bin. We’re not talking about baby poop here; adult waste has a specific destination, and that’s a toilet.
The Lesson Learned
As the hours dragged on, it became painfully clear that the plumbing job was taking far longer than expected. I had long been aware that you can never fully trust a plumber’s timeline, but this was a lesson I would not soon forget.
By the end of the day, when I finally dealt with the contents of that bag, I truly understood the term “shitbag.” Let’s just say it’s a fitting label for a reason. Perhaps I should reserve it for my worst enemy, too.
Further Reading
For more relatable parenting stories and advice, check out this article on home insemination, which offers insights into the journey of becoming a parent. If you’re interested in learning more about the tools available for conception, Make a Mom is an excellent resource for home insemination kits. Additionally, for those considering intrauterine insemination, Cleveland Clinic’s resource provides valuable information.
In summary, the experience of using my child’s potty was both surreal and comical, a reminder that parenting often entails navigating the unexpected, especially when it comes to bodily functions.