Babyruth.

Bath time is always an experience in my house. Now that my child is no longer confined to her bath seat, she’s free to explore the depths of our household tub. She splishes. She splashes. She soaks everything within a 2 mile radius. She’s learned how to squirt water from her bath toys and giggles when her bath doll pees on the floor. She likes to stand and slip a little so she can give me a heart attack. Then she falls on her butt and further soaks our drywall. I’m sure we’ll have mold soon.

Her latest antics, however, are a bit...shall we say, concerning. And, let's be honest, repulsive. Vomit-inducing repulsion.

My child has started using our tub as a toilet. Yes, I’ve got a tub crapper on my hands.

I'm not talking about rabbit turd craps, people, I'm talking enough crap to fill a size 4 diaper. Enough crap to warrant a Hazmat suit. Enough crap to send smelly poo vapors through our air vents, outside to our neighbors’ homes. I just know the HOA is meeting about the broken sewer main that must be by our house.

I scream, I cry, I call for help, but help never comes. Instead, "help" (aka Joe) stands outside the bathroom door laughing and mocking as I reach into the forbidden poo abyss to rescue the Babyruth floaters that are bobbing up and down in the murky tub water.

I pull Anna out of the tub. She stands there dripping water on our cold tile floors as the sweat beads form on my forehead and the vomit rises in my throat. She points and laughs and farts for good measure.

Here’s a visual of how it goes down in my house:

When I signed up to be a mom, I never agreed to this. There must be some hidden disclaimer that I forgot to read in my parenting books about tub poopers. I feel as though I’m entitled to some sort of compensation – perhaps money, a new car, definitely NOT a lifetime of chocolate.