the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Dinner etiquette

My cousin Mckenzie who usually watches Marlo during the day has been out of town this week, so Cami stepped in to provide childcare. Cami and her brother used to share a car, and I’m not sure what the exact story is behind why they no longer have that car, so let’s just pretend that it involves drug trafficking, Adderall, a stolen Glock 17, a high-speed chase involving law enforcement, the BYU honor code, and a hooker with a third nipple.

Sound good? Cool.

Point is, she hasn’t got transportation, so she’s just staying over all week. CUE THE RUMORS. Cami and I are a couple now, AREN’T WE? AREN’T WE? Heather Armstrong was a lesbian THIS WHOLE TIME. Scandalous! Scandals! Candles! Candies! Scabies! Rabies! BABIES!

No, we’re not dating. I know, shake your head. WHY AM I SO BORING. She’s engaged to a very lovely man, but in the meantime we just play sister wives on my blog.

So.

We were having dinner last night with the girls, and Marlo really wanted a “chocwhut” treat. But the rule is that when we have a treat after dinner (that’s right, we don’t always have a treat after dinner, it’s practically a Mexican prison around here), you have to finish your meal first. You can’t leave half of a frozen burrito sitting there as if I didn’t just slave over pushing the buttons on the microwave. The tip of my index finger gets mad just thinking about it.

Her meal happened to include a side bowl of watermelon which she absolutely loves, but she was a lot more interested in skipping that part and diving head first into a bag of M&M’s. But here’s the thing: Marlo takes very much after her sister and other members of her immediate family in that the circuitry involved in the production and elimination of her excrement doesn’t work. Okay, FINE. Kid doesn’t poop. There. I said it. POOP. Have you missed me?

It’s a total nightmare. I won’t get into all the gory details because HOOOO. You most certainly do not need that imagery, but the gist is that she can hold it for nine straight days. One, two, three, four, NINE. That is all of the days. All of them. There are no more days left on earth because she used every single one to hold in her poop.

I have experience in remedying this type of situation, and in addition to supplementing her diet with a harsh chemical laxative that melts steel I make sure to feed her things that will discourage such bad behavior. It’s like, really? You aren’t going to poop? FINE. I’m throwing away all your toys and SANTA IS DEAD. WHAT NOW?

Lots of water and lots of fruit. That’s where the watermelon comes in, and last night as she was asking again for the “chocwhut,” I looked at her across the table and said, “Listen. You have to finish your watermelon so that you’ll go poop.”

I guess I never took the time to explain to her the dietary benefits of fruit, because she did a double-take, and then another one, AND THEN ANOTHER ONE, squinted her eyes like she was trying to figure out what had just happened, and then she looked at Cami like WTF?! Like, why is that woman talking about poop right now? Where in this discussion did the topic of poop fit in? You’re with me, right, Cami? Like, that woman is crazy. WHAT A TOTAL EFFING NUTTER.

That’s when both Cami and I fell into the floor laughing.

“Did you see that?” she asked me as she tried to catch her breath.

“Did I see that?” I answered. “Did I see how she basically just called me an insane poop talker right in front of my face? Yeah. I saw that.”

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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