Like riding a bike, I always thought that once you mastered pooping, you were set for life. But as I discovered, that path is not so straightforward. Our 4-year-old son, Max, has encountered some unexpected challenges.
There I was, enjoying a rare moment of peace in the bathroom, scrolling through my phone while the kids were occupied. This was my sanctuary, a brief escape from the chaos of parenting. It’s amazing how a few moments alone can feel like a mini-vacation. While scrolling, I stumbled upon a funny post from my younger sister, who lamented about the horrors of cleaning poop out of the tub. I couldn’t help but respond, “Yikes! That’s disgusting!”
Soon enough, other family members chimed in with their own stories, and I realized I might be tempting fate. In a feeble attempt to reverse my luck, I commented again, saying something like, “Wow, that’s rough! Thankfully, we’ve managed to avoid that mess.” I felt a bit guilty for pretending we were in the clear. Suddenly, I heard my wife, Sarah, calling from upstairs.
“Michael! Oh no… Michael!”
My heart sank.
“Max had an accident. In the tub!”
Great. I figured there must be parents who have dodged this milestone, but apparently, we weren’t among them. Calmly, I approached the situation because it was crucial for my child to know that everything would be okay and to maintain my role as a steady presence amidst the chaos.
Karma had other plans for me.
After a few days of Max not making any successful trips to the toilet—he refers to it as making a “poop family” when it happens in stages—we figured it was just a phase. But when we encouraged him to try, he resisted fiercely. We soon learned he had developed a fear of pooping.
We tried coaxing, bribing, and every trick we could think of. A few successes came with tears, but then he completely shut down. He began experiencing discomfort from being backed up, and logic had no effect on him.
Then I had what I now realize was a terrible idea. I thought, “A warm bath might help.”
It worked, but not in the way I had hoped. Max, who is the size of a typical 7-year-old, managed to produce what could only be described as a disaster fit for an adult after a heavy meal. The bath became a chaotic scene of splashes and tears. In that moment, I learned that karma had indeed delivered my lesson.
As a modern dad, I take on many responsibilities, but there are some roles only a mother can fulfill. When we notice a few days have gone by without a successful potty trip, Sarah steps in. Our reward system of chocolate seems effective, but if we let it slide, the fear resurfaces.
When that happens, my wife transforms into the nurturing guide Max needs. They retreat to the bathroom, where she reassures him through his fears, patiently encouraging him as he expresses his reluctance and tears. With soothing words, cold compresses, and a calming atmosphere—complete with dimmed lights—she is unwavering. Eventually, he trusts her, and they share a moment of connection as she supports him through this natural process.
Without even realizing it, motivated only by her boundless love, Sarah has become a poop coach.
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In summary, my wife’s transformation into a poop coach illustrates the unique challenges of parenting, showing how love and patience can help children navigate even the most awkward situations.