Dressing, bathing and poop crumbles

When she puts on her shoes, Arya puts them on the wrong feet most of the time. We point this out, and then she’ll ask “this one?” If we answer in the affirmative, she puts that shoe on the right foot, and then asks if the other shoe goes on the other foot. If we answer in the negative, she’ll point to the other foot and ask “this one?” “No, the other foot.” Every time. We gave up on tying shoes a long time ago, and all of her shoes are pull-ons.

She can get socks on right most of the time, but she needs help with everything else. And, she can take off her clothes most of the time, but she gets hung up on shirts unless they’re loose. Most of the time, getting stuck results in giggles.

Hygiene is an abstract concept, so that argument to bathe or shower is moot. “You don’t want your teacher/doctor/tutor to say ‘pee yuwee!’” Much more concrete. She likes to play in the bath, so often I add some liquid soap and let her soak it in for as long as she wants. She’s good about “whooshing” herself with bathwater too, so if she’s not too grubby, a “whoosh” bath is a relatively stress-free option. Showers and baths (when she’s really grubby) have gotten easier although I have to wash her hair and scrub her with a pouf.

Amazingly, she can get into the tub by herself, turn the water on and off, and push in the plug. She can’t get out of the bath by herself though, and I installed bars to help her with that although she still needs to hold my hand to feel safe.

Arya didn’t start using the potty regularly until she was about seven. We tried potty training when she was three after she learned to walk, but it was always so frustrating for her and for us. Part of the problem was that she had chronic constipation. We found that out with x-rays when she was very little, and we tried various kinds of laxatives, finally settling on Miralax. Before we got the dosage right, she was so constipated all the time that she couldn’t control when liquid would run out her behind. We could tell when she had to poop though, because her body would tense up, she would cry out, and she would flap her arms. She still does this, but she knows to use the bathroom when she feels that way, although she still poops her pants occasionally.

The problem now, although it’s funny in a dark-humor sort of way, is that she can’t wipe herself very well. She tries though. What this means is that after she poops, she always has some left on her bottom. And when she gets undressed, or more often, when I help her get undressed, poop crumbles fall to the floor. Or onto the toilet. Or even sometimes out of her panties and onto the bed or the couch. And she smells like poop often.

I remember when Rob and I lived in St. Louis, we had these sweet ladies for neighbors. One of them had Down Syndrome and the other, whom I’ll call Sandra, had some other intellectual disability. She was very friendly and would knock on our door each day to ask how we were doing and about every other person she had ever seen at our house. Sometimes, she would knock and knock and knock. It got annoying to be honest, but we always treated her kindly. What I remember most vividly is that she always smelled like old food, food that she had spilled on herself. I remember feeling pity for her. Her roommate with Down Syndrome would get picked up most days when she dressed in a fast food restaurant uniform. I don’t know if Sandra worked. I never saw her outside the house except when she was at our door. It’s ironic that my own daughter is and will be viewed and thought about much the same way I thought about Sandra. Teachable. Humbling.