if you’re grossed out by poop, stop reading now.

I’m sorry you have to clean up after me, Mommy.

 

Since having kids, my tolerance for poop has increased quite a bit. I used to be grossed out very easily, but when Emma was born that changed. I learned I could leave my dinner on the table, go change her poopy diaper, and come back minutes later to finish my meal. No big deal.

The poop incidents have only worsened over the years. Yesterday’s was the most memorable yet.

We were at one of the kids’ schools (I won’t say which school or which boy to protect him from embarrassment) for their Thanksgiving feast… I’ll just lovingly refer to him as “the boy.”

The boy decided he had to go to the bathroom. I’d already taken the kids to the bathroom a while before that, so I asked Ian if he would mind taking him. “The boy,” however, insisted that he wanted ME to take him. So I did.

We found a boys bathroom and I let him go in. I made sure there was no one else in there and stood by the door, holding it slightly open.

“You okay in there?” I asked.

“Uh oh. No, Mommy. I pooped on the floor.”

“What?” I needed clarification.

“I thought I had a toot but poop came out.”

Dear Lord. What should I do? This is a boys’ bathroom. I guess I’ll have to go in there and help him.
 

He was in a stall with the door locked. I peeked through the crack and saw him sitting on the toilet. His legs hanging, and gross green poop on the floor under him.

Dear God. This cannot be happening. 
 

“Let me in. You’re going to have to unlock the door, buddy.”

“Why don’t you just go under, Mommy?”

“Umm. No, I’m not going under the door. You have to unlock it for me. BE REALLY REALLY CAREFUL. DO NOT STEP IN THE POOP.”

I heard his little boots land on the floor and he unlocked the stall door.

Before I could tell him not to, he climbed back on the toilet. Upon further inspection I saw there there was poop all over. On the toilet seat, in his underwear, running down his legs, and of course, the floor. I just wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry you have to clean up after me, Mommy.”

Oh, dear boy. I’m sorry this happened to you.
 

“It”s okay. We’ll get you cleaned up. This isn’t a big deal.” I hoped it sounded convincing.

As we were washing our hands (fifty times) he asked, “Is it hard being a mommy?”

“Well, sometimes. Sometimes I have to be up all night when one of you is sick and throwing up all night. Or when one of you poops all over yourselves and the floor..”

“Oh, like I just did!”

“Yep. Like you just did. It can be hard, but I love being a mommy. I love being YOUR mommy.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“Love you, too, buddy.”

I’ll spare you more gross details. I’ll just say that twenty minutes later we finally came out of the bathroom. The boy’s underwear went in the trashcan. There was no way I was taking those suckers home. My spirit was both crushed from cleaning up human feces and proud because my boy seemed to take notice of something I did for him and appreciated it.

As we were leaving the school, my dear friend Jill reminded me that I’d forgotten some of the kids’  artwork. I lovingly told her I didn’t really care to go back for it. I just wanted to get home after the whole poop incident.

I replied, “I’m not winning any Mom of the Year Awards this year, friend. I’ll get it some other time.”

Oh, the joys of motherhood. I wrote this so I don’t forget it. The days are long, but the years are short. I’m ready for the poop incidents to be over. 🙂

 

 

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