The Urine Wars
When the baby shower was thrown for the precious little boy in my belly, I should have been gifted toilet brushes, gallons of bleach and copious amounts of rubber gloves to prepare me for the future. Because in two years time, I would be getting “showered” with urine. I had two girls and was in no way prepared for the wild and unruly shenanigans of a toddler penis.
When potty training began for my son, where was the potty training course for me? A pamphlet or some kind of literature on how to deal with a perpetual onslaught of pee? A cautionary tale from a mother of boys? A subtle whisper that toddler penis’ take no prisoners, or a simple notification like “congratulations! you will now be pummeled with piss.” I was completely in the dark. Roughly the length of my middle finger, is how much I completely underestimated the urinal fury that something so small could unleash.
I scrub the toilet three times a day everyday without fail. I was scrubbing so often that I decided to complete the third and final cleaning at night because it’s quiet. It almost started to become therapuetic… sick and twisted right? I would go to sleep feeling accomplished and pee-less and wake up to find pee dribbles on the bowl, the back of the bowl and the floor… wait, is that piss on the wall?!?
That is where I drew the line. I confronted my son. “How exactly do you pee?” I am envisioning him spinning around in circles with his eyes closed while relieving himself.
He calmly pulls down his Buzz Lightyear drawers and shows me his toddler erection. He gestures to it with a look of hopelessness and defeat and says, “my penis is big, I have a big penis” in a my hands are tied because this little extension is going to do whatever it wants kind of way.
I tell my husband who immediately comes to the anatomy’s defense, “Yeah, it’s called a ‘tired boner’ and it makes it really frickin’ hard to pee. It trickles out to the left and then unexpectedly shoots out straight, the struggle is real.”
Well shit! Women are smart. We sit down to go pee. There are no surprises there, no unexpected spraying in random directions. Just consistent episodes of urine going into the toilet.
Women pee with the seat down, we know this and since as mothers we can never go to the bathroom alone, my son has seen me pee this way. Being a boy, he is not supposed to pee with the seat down. We have had this discussion many times after I’ve discovered pee dripping down the sides of the bowl and upon lifting the seat up, finding a ring of yellow fragrant fluid extending and trickling down the back side of the toilet. You can only imagine what it’s like when asparagus is involved.
I was scouring that porcelain throne so much with “harsh chemicals” that I thought I might whip up my own batch of all natural cleaner. I hopped on Pinterest and found a vinegar based recipe that claimed to be the perfect substitute. White vinegar and orange oil… fresh from the peel of the brightly colored juicy orange I had just eaten. Sounds so perfect doesn’t it? Let me tell you something, it didn’t do shit for my shitter. This concoction is exempt from the overload of urine and fecal matter (my daughter has constipation issues) that scatters my “supposed to be white” bowl. I need bleach. This is not my opinion, this is a fact.
Where is the light at the end of my tunnel? I am anxiously and impatiently waiting. I tell myself that one day this will all be a distant memory but I’ve spent two years in these urine soaked trenches and there’s no end in sight.
This is MY cautionary tale. If you have a beautiful baby boy; love him, cherish him, hold and snuggle him, but I warn you! Beware the reckless beast hiding amongst a pair of tiny testicles cleverly disguised as your son’s adorable manhood.
