There are so many things about motherhood I enjoy. Poop is NOT one of them. I don’t even like dealing with my own poop, why on earth would I enjoy dealing with anyone else’s??! But, alas, it comes with the job; you know that before baby even gets here. Babies are so cute, awwwww.
Meconium. I knew to expect it after reading every baby book ever written, collecting all information and anecdotal accounts from every mother, I had ever met. My husband, who WATCHED me read all those books, had quite a shock. Cue look of horror, “OH God! What IS that?!?” A few sleepless nights (weeks) later, you grow so accustomed to those yellow sharts that you are now sleeping in them, and wearing some on the majority of your clothing. As time passes you begin to master the art of being Mom and bathing/overall general hygiene. You even put on makeup and run errands. Errands, where baby comes in contact with some germ that now has them on their first batch of antibiotics. Antibiotics have side effects. All that time spent trying to prepare for any possible situation, and BOOM. Some things you just learn the hard way.
Here is how Mommy Training Day goes: Walk in the door from some quick errand, and nurse baby “comfortably” (sweaty pits and sudden dehydration) on the couch with specially designed pillow. Nearing the end of boob 1, baby, as usual, begins a bowel movement. Decide to go ahead and finish boob 1 since a diaper change between boobs will wake him from his milk coma.
WRONG. No really… something is wrong. What is that warm, sticky feeling on my arm?? Poo. And then more poo. Poo on your arm. All over the baby. Oh no, special pillow with special washing instructions. Damn it. Boob number 2 is now throbbing and there is number 2 all over your “comfortable area”. Changing table! This strikes you as a great “ah ha!” moment. Head up the stairs. Delicately. Make an effort to minimize poo exposure. Hellooooo changing table! Let’s get this baby clean! Strip. wipe down. think how great wipes are, and grab new diaper. Beautiful son, uses this rare naked moment to pee. In a panic, the new diaper used to prevent additional urine stains on the wall, is now also garbage next to the poo diaper that hit max capacity in under 10 seconds. While attempting to get diaper number 3, a strong and surprisingly forceful STREAM of liquid number 2 shoots with such speed and pressure out of this precious child (that you love so much); that you can only be witness to the devastation of the changing table, wall, and carpet. What now? Wipes are no longer going to cut it. Shirt and arms- covered in poo. Baby- covered in poo. Entire area intended to clean poo- covered in poo. Bath tub! The best idea yet! Dang it. why do I have to keep the baby tub downstairs by the kitchen sink?? Maybe, I can just use the tub up here? Attempt. Cold naked baby covered in poo. water doesn’t want to drain. Great…. Poo water. Head back downstairs with baby in your arms, resigned to the fact that poop has now inevitably spread through most of the house. Get tub, and decide you are never keeping it downstairs again. Clean baby, strip poo clothes off, and clean yourself. Document poo everywhere with new flip phone camera, to send to your childless sister, who will be as shocked as you are. Finally, get some relief from the throbbing right boob before washing specially designed pillow and all other poo covered garments that made the cut from being trashed.
The longer you are Mom, and the more kids you have, you get less and less shocked by these kind of moments. No, that’s a lie. They WILL find a way. Do NOT underestimate them. There is a small spot just above my right eye. That is where the pain starts, and drills to the back of my skull. I think this will be the point of detonation where my head will explode the next time my almost 6 year old decides to smear his feces on the wall after “checking” bare handed. Or perhaps it will be when my almost 8 year old, comes out of bed saying it stinks in there, asking to wipe again, all the while digging in his crack through the underwear. “You NEVER have to ask to go wipe. Please stop digging, especially if you think there is poop there.” There was poop there.
There ARE saving graces. Like my 2 year old pooping in the potty, since he was 3 months old. Hollah! He has never smeared poop in his crib. Whoop-whoop! And only rarely has he stuck his hand in the toilet. This makes me a little afraid of what might be lying in wait with him.
And to my then childless sister, you, my dear deserve a trophy for the amount of poo your youngest is continuing to challenge you with.
To all of those in the trenches with their sleeves rolled up and hair pulled back- I’m with you, and I’ve got plenty of Clorox wipes. Figuratively, of course, because I’m not going to help you clean the poo. Good luck.