White Knuckles

I felt sorry for The Boy.
I really did.
You could tell he wanted to get it out but he just couldn’t.
It was all Struggle and Strife.
Strain and Pain.
I just wanted to scream “Just let it go you Stupid Mother Fucker! It will feel so much better when you do!”
But I couldn’t.
“Stupid Mother Fucker” is a term that is pretty much frowned upon when referring to your toddler and reason is pretty much a thing that is frowned upon by your toddler.
All I could do was just watch in helpless horror and spout hollow platitudes like “We all do it.” or “Everybody poops!” and other things grown ups say that don’t mean anything to a two and a half year old. I kept talking, trying to find the right words.
But I didn’t have the words that The Boy wanted to hear. In fact he didn’t want to hear any words at all. He wanted action, satisfaction. He wanted it all to go away.
The Boy arched his feet and danced on his toes.
He spun around and did The Poopy Dance.
“I’m cold!” he said and danced into the dining room. I took a couple of steps then reached out and captured him. I bounded down the hall to the bathroom, opened the door and flopped The Boy down. His little wang was all hard and aimed right at my face. As soon as I slammed him down he unloaded and pelted my face with a stream of urine. I closed my eyes and shut my mouth, but he had a whole day of piss in him and that urine hit me with a purpose. It got all up in my mouth and in my eyes. When it shot up my nose I shrieked like a little girl. I got my composure and remembered that I was the Dad.
“Stop!”
He didn’t.
I got a bunch more across my chest and down around my ankles.
He giggled.
I tried to be mad, but it was kind of funny.
But seriously, let’s get down to business.
“I don’t want to!!” he screamed
“You have to.” I tried to charm him
“Come on!”
He gripped down hard on the handles of his potty seat and his tiny knuckles went from pink to white. His eyes were crazy wide and full of pain. The veins on his neck bulged out thick and blue with strain.
“No, No Daddy!” he cried
“You can do it!”
His whole body convulsed, veins rippled like angry octopus arms around his neck.
He looked me in the eye.
A brief hesitation, then a tear trickled down his cheek.
“I can do this.” he choked out.
He straight armed himself four inches over the bowl gripping the potty handles like an Olympic gymnast. There was a grunt, some snot flew out of his nose, and then he shoved out a softball sized turd that had twice the density of lead. The concrete crap rock hit the bottom of the bowl with a thud.
The Boy relaxed and let out a long sigh of relief.
“I did it!” he said with a triumphant smile.
"Yes you did." I said with pride.
“Yes you did.”