Poop Is Coming

A warning to fathers before and fathers to be.

Children are no easy task. They require constant attention, an unblinking eye. One may think he knows what his child is up to but he would be wrong. Children are unpredictable, tricky. Spawns of our own hellish creation.

Time flashes by but a child needs only need one day, nay, nary a quarter-hour to subject you to the trials of parenthood — the Trials of Eternal No’s.

A fortnight before the full moon was when our hero faced his Trials. His little sack-seed, near the ripe age of two, had just begun to understand how to control his bladder and wield the might of the Ceramic Throne. Chipper the sack-seed was, grabbing his father’s or mother’s hand to pull them to the mighty throne into which he would happily release his water. Day upon day yielded choruses of “Hurrah!” amongst them all. The sack-seed would receive a treat for his victory and the parents swelled with pride.

Or so it seemed.

The Fates had determined the Trial of Eternal No’s for our hero—it would be a day void of hope or mercy, for his partner would be off elsewhere, earning chains of knowledge.

The day began as any other: the sun shone, cold air bit, and the sack-seed wailed at his containment in his chambers. Our hero shed his covers to bid the sack-seed a good morning and ask if he needed to use the Ceramic Throne.

“No,” the sack-seed says, shaking his head to enforce his point. He proceeded to wake the mother, so everyone would be tired and cranky.

They broke their fast and watched their magic box and before the tenth hour the mother leaves in her metal carriage—leaving the hero and the sack-seed alone.

Seven and a half hours until the Trials were to begin.

The morning was spent in nightclothes as both father and son were hypnotized by the rhymes on the tube-for-you. The hero returned to his senses at the smell of rotten eggs.

“Do you need to go poo?” he asked his child.

“No,” the sack-seed replied.

“I don’t believe you—off to the Throne Room.”

The sack-seed seemed to be telling the truth for he readily released his waters into the throne but no poo fell from him.

“Tell me when you need to poo,” the father insisted.

“Yup,” agreed the sack-seed.

Four hours until the trials would begin.

Lunch was served and another pee went into the Ceramic Throne and the sack-seed shortly rested his head for a nap of an hour and one half. Upon waking he didn’t have to pee.

“Okay,” said our hero. “Let me know when and we will try again.”

“Yup,” said the sack-seed. But ten minutes passed and the sack-seed decided beside his toys was a good place to go.

Irritated and a little hurt the father cleaned it up and told his sack-seed that he should have let him know. Sack-seed agreed again that he would and sure enough dragged our hero into the Throne Room every twenty minutes. Poop was coming.

One hour until the trials.

Belly filled with supper and bulging with poop the sack-seed sat on the Ceramic Throne, groaning and crying because his poop would not come out in the ten seconds he deigned to stay on the Throne.

Our hero was determined to catch this poop, knowing it would be large, having built up all day inside the little sack-seed. He wouldn’t let this poop be an accident. He played with the sack-seed in the Throne Room, let him watch the tube-for-you, everything he could think of to get the poop moving.

Thirty minutes until the trials would begin.

The sack-seed was frustrated and refused to be contained.

Again the hero tells him to let him know when he needed to poop.

“Yup.”

Ten minutes until the Trials.

Together father and son sit on the couch, giggling and laughing at one another’s silly faces and silly noises. Then the sack-seed released a smell that could only be described as the insides of a tauntaun.

To his feet the hero jumped. “Time to go poo, go, go, go!”

They ran to the Throne Room and sat down. A focussed stare and gas from the sack-seed. He grunted and groaned, then jumped up and exclaimed, “Poop!”

The father peeked into the bowl but there was no poop to be seen. “Sorry, monkey, no poop. Try again.”

“No.” The sack-seed shook his head and asked for his underwear.

One minute until the Trials.

They left the Throne Room and went to the living room. The sack-seed climbed on the couch and jumped once, twice, and—

“Uh-oh.”

So the Trials began.

Our hero grabbed his sack-seed and rushed him to the Ceramic Throne. He pulled down the underwear, the poop was soupy and thick. It smeared along the sack-seed’s legs. It would be a mess to clean up but not just then. The hero shook what he could out of the underwear and into the toilet and then tossed the underwear in the sink. The sack-seed’s bowels were leaking as he sat down and the father turned to the sink. A few chunks remained in the underwear, nothing too large but a rinsing was necessary. The father turned on the tap and was rinsing them when the sack-seed decided he was all done. The father left the water running on the underwear so he could clean the child.

Sack-seed’s legs were covered, front and back. The Ceramic Throne was no longer pure white but smeared with brown. When the sack-seed had slid off the throne it had smeared everywhere.

“Wipes are not going to clean you,” he said. “You need a bath so—”

Water splashed, spilling over the edge of the sink.

“No, no, no!” cried the hero.

The underwear had clogged the sink, causing the poopy water to overflow. The hero jumped up, turned off the water, and grabbed the underwear out of it. The sack-seed, who had an unhealthy obsession with water, approached the poopy waterfall with extended hands.

“No, no, no!” the hero said as he kept the sack-seed at bay with his foot.

The sack-seed’s attention was drawn elsewhere—to the poop-covered Ceramic Throne. Again he reached out and said, “Poop!” But before he could touch it our hero scooped him up and dropped him in the tub.

“No, no poop,” the hero said. “Icky.”

He turned on the water and hosed the sack-seed down. Deeming the sack-seed clean enough the hero turned his attention to the Throne. He took a cloth and a bottle of bleach and wiped the Throne clean before turning to the sink, pooling with poopy water. He cast a wary glance at the sack-seed, naked and playing with his boats. He thinks that if there is another poop it will at least be easy to clean. He removed item after item from the poop-pooled counter, wiped the base of each item, and finally cleaned the counter itself.

The Trial is over, he thought.

What a silly ass our hero was.

Sack-seed had made his way out of the tub, grabbed for his Throne steps, and begun to climb to the top.

“Got more poo—no, no, no!”

The Sack-seed never got to sit down before the poop ran down his steps. The father was quick but not near quick enough.

Defeated, the hero sat in front of the Throne. The sack-seed turned his hands in a gesture of “all done.”

“You’re having a bath,” our hero states.

So he did, and played in the tub while the hero cleaned.

Remember the warning of fathers before and fathers to be:

Poop is coming.