Oh Poo!

Disclaimer: This post is related to potty training. No further information needed. Read at your own risk!

"Mama, I need you to come her RIGHT NOW" she yelled from the bathroom.
I looked over to Bry.
"It sounds like you need to go in there ASAP!" He said. "She is in the bathroom all by herself".
I clicked out of the blog I was reading, and set the computer into sleep mode. Closing the laptop, she starting yelling again. Not a minute had gone by.
"Mom, I need you!" she cried.
This could not be good.
Moira has been in underwear since April 4. Yes, I remember the date, mainly because for the four months leading up to her third birthday every day she would promise that once she turned three she would give up diapers "Forever and ever!". She followed through on that promise all be it four days late, and we have gone diaper free during waking hours since.
About a week into potty training she discovered the word "privacy" and since has begged for it when in the bathroom.
"Maevie, I need privacy when I go potty" she would sternly tell her little sister.
"Daddy, I have to go poop. I go alone since I need privacy." she told my husband as she would gesture an open palm in his direction.
Her need for privacy would end the minute her business was completed and she needed to be wiped, but we found a level of success in this arrangement. Thus, a routine emerged and so we thought nothing out of the ordinary when she ran into the bathroom that evening.
As I walked to the bathroom, I saw her through the slightly open door. She looked panicked.
I opened the door.
"Mama, I had a little accident" she murmured.
Oh. My. God!
Walking in the stench hit me like a ton of bricks.
She looks up to me and whispers, "I had a little accident".
Sure enough, she did.
There are fingerprints made from poo, on our bright white door frame.
The white toilet seat also suffers from a similar fate.
Her purple fairy underwear has no chance of salvation, and on her legs streaks.
In the moment, I don't even know where to begin, so I let out a laugh, not because I find it comical, more so because I don't know what else to do.
"Bry! It's bad!" I scream. "You don't want to come in here".
We had made an arrangement prior to the birth of our first child that Bry was in charge of all vomit while I am Team Poo. Strangely he gags while changing poop diapers while I can't seem to stomach vomit. On this day, I tried to keep him away.
"What happened?" he asks taking a few steps towards the bathroom door.
"You do not want to come in here!" I instruct as I look down at Mo. "Keep Maeve away. I have to take Mo up to the shower."
He fails to listen and approaches the bathroom door.
"OH MY GOD!" he yells. "Jac, what the f--k did she do? Mo is that your poop on the wall?".
Mo looks up and giggles.
Not the right response in this situation kid.
"You seriously aren't laughing Moira Ann, are you?" he yells. "This is not funny. Big girls do not poop in their panties. This is very naughty! Are you a baby? Do we need to put you back in diapers?"
In Mo's world being a big girl is important. Being reprimanded and told that your actions are equal to that of a baby are appalling and so it became obvious at that moment to her that she did something severely wrong. Her head goes down and the smile disappears from her face.
"If you have accident, you tell mommy or daddy, you don't try to fix it yourself!" I try to calmly respond. "We don't wipe poop on the wall or the toilet, and we don't try to clean up our mess alone!".
Disgusted, Bry walks out and grabs Maeve, attempting to keep her from her soiled sister.
I carry Mo, strategically placing my hands on cleaner areas of her body up the stairs.
"Where we going Mama?" She asks. "I need new panties".
"Your going right in the shower Mo. You are very dirty!" I tell her as I enter the bathroom.
As I survey the scene, I decide placing her in the tub is the best spot. Slowly I strip the soiled clothes of my kid and place the dirty (such a kind word choice) into a dirty diaper bag along with an obscene amount of wipes which I used to remove any remnants from her body.
"We going for ice cream now?" she asks standing in the bathtub naked.
A question only a three year could ask.

No, we didn't go for ice cream as a family.
I cleaned Mo, and then cleaned up the mess in the bathroom. I'm figuring once the kids get older there will be messes caused by vomit that Bry will be responsible for cleaning, so I held up my end of the agreement. Bedtime was early last night in response to this poo incident. I wasn't taking any chances in the forty-five minutes between this incident and bedtime, so Mo went into a diaper.

I did however make a run to Cold Stone Creamery once the kids were in bed. After the crap (both literal and figurative) I had gone through I deserved ice cream.