The post about poop.

So many people I know have great poop stories. Most of them have something to do with their children. As of yet, Mark and I have blissfully laughed at these tales, never really appreciating them at their core. Can you believe we’ve gone 20 months with our child without a spectacular poop story? It’s about as astonishing as the fact that our daughter has never had an ear infection, something that seems to plague infants everywhere.

We now have a poop story. Mark slept through it, the bastard. It goes a little something like this:

Last night around midnight, Lily awoke with great drama and tears. She normally sleeps through the night, so when she wakes up, we’ll both bolt wide awake and Mark will hit the floor running. He had mentioned that she hadn’t pooped all day and for our ultra-regular child, this was unusual. Mark fully expected that when he arrived at her side, poop would be everywhere (those of you paying attention know this could not be the case... otherwise, I wouldn't be calling my dear husband a bastard above). Instead, he found snot. Lots of snot. He changed her wet diaper, wiped down the snot river and snuggled into bed with her for the night. Neither one of them managed to sleep much from then on; Lily due to her discomfort from the snot factory running in her head and Mark due to the flopping, fussing toddler that alternately kicked and hugged him while whimpering pathetically. I, however, enjoyed a full nights sleep… well as full as it can be whilst waking every couple hours to pee or because I can hear her fussing or because the dog has decided she wants to go out or… you get the picture.

I got my butt out of bed this morning and sent Mark back to bed as he had that look that meant trouble was a-brewing if he didn’t get a-sleeping. Lil was in rare form, alternately giggling happily while sitting on the dogs back and hugging her fiercely around the neck and then bursting into tears… presumably because the folks at the snot factory had a surplus and needed to move some product. I kept trying to make some breakfast but had a great deal of trouble as some part of my body was draped with a flailing, slick toddler. She stripped naked, put on a lime green dress and pink pants… then peed on those and stripped naked again. Diapers were OUT of the question, mind you. Naked seemed to be working for her so I let it be, choosing to ignore the fact that she was exploring her genitals with great gusto while I chatted with my cousin in Chicago over the phone. She kept throwing herself against the dog, then running around, then crying, then giggling. I swear, she got into some crack or something, ‘cause she was acting like a junky on a bender. All of a sudden, she throws herself against the dog, butt out and starts pooping like a mad woman. She sticks her hand in it, then her foot, then wipes her snotty face with the poop infested hand, then rolls over and starts screaming as though the world is ending; after all, she was literally SHIT FACED. The dog gets into the excitement by trying to eat the poop, I’ve got a prefold and am trying to clean her off after a hurried “Oh, Oh, she’s pooping. OH!! Not the face, I gotta go!” to my now laughing cousin. Lily’s shrieking at the top of her lungs while the dog is all over her and I’m trying to keep it from getting any worse while running for the wipes. She’s pointing to the various poop covered bits of her and babbling something incoherent, which probably translates to “SHIT! SHIT! I’M COVERED IN MY OWN SHIT, WOMAN!” AND she’s trying to cling to me and there a part of me that is screaming (in my head) “SHIT! SHIT! SHE’S COVERED IN HER OWN SHIT!” while trying to keep everyone as calm as possible. I get the worst of the damage under control and she throws herself towards her room, where I struggle her onto the changing table and attempt to get her into a diaper as she is grabbing at her back end and I’m just not up for another round. While we battle the diaper the ketchup bottle of wiper solution tries to make a run for it (wouldn't you?) and whacks her on the head. This sets off a whole new round of ear splitting screams and I snap the last snap on the diaper, give up on the cover and bundle my hysterical daughter into my arms and take her back to the living room where she clings to me as though the world is ending, pops her poop-free thumb into her mouth and shudders to a stop.

And breathe.

In with the cleansing breath.

Out with the poop-screaming-panicked-end-of-the-world breath.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Despite the fact that it is past the time I need to go wake Mark and get ready for work, we sit quietly for a bit until Lily pops up, points at the cat and starts babbling “kiddy!” happily and excitedly… scooting off my lap as though nothing bad has ever happened in her entire young life. We found Mark dressed and ready to take over Lily when we went downstairs and she happily rolled over and over both of us while trying to dig out my belly button with the scoop from the cat food bin. I’m at work now and feeling lucky that I am. Sometimes that child scares the hell outta me and this morning was one of those times. If I never see poop smeared across my child’s face again, my life would be complete.


In with the cleansing breath.

Out with the poop-screaming-panicked-end-of-the-world breath.

Lather, rinse, repeat.