Motherhood and Poop

There’s SO MANY things they don’t tell you about becoming a mother! I think it’s safe to say that most of us go into having our first child with so much fear of the unknown! One of the main ones being, “THAT comes out of THERE!?”Accompanied with panic. A close second, the gift of hemmrhoids. Kudos to the moms who went au natural, I, on the other hand, would like to take a moment and thank whomever created the epidural as it was as magical as it was scary. I didn’t know this with my first, but I found out before my second (and added it to the list of fears) did you know, PEOPLE POOP WHILE BIRTHING BABIES!? I mean, I guess when you really think about it, and oh buddy DID I, it sounds pretty normal as you are quite literally pushing a somewhat larger and more alive terd out that you then have to keep alive for AT LEAST 18 years. I didn’t care about the blood or the weird globs of stuff that plop out after, but boy was I concerned about the poop and I honestly couldn’t tell you why my concern was so heavy. I lived a relatively clean life until children. My mom says I manifested it into happening for myself because I didn’t do it the first time around. Honestly, I resented her for saying that, but she’s probably right. I get the nervous poops too so what’s more nerve wracking than birth!? Anyways, let me apologize by how comfortable I am with talking about poop, but I could accurately support that comfort with one word, MOTHERHOOD. It all starts when you poop them out. That’s followed by months of quite literally counting and logging their poops. Some of those said poops being logged on the poop paper are launched so aggressively out their arse you don’t know wether to take cover and leave them to fend for themselves or just throw the whole baby away once they’ve bathed in it as it climbs up their back. They grow so fast that you don’t have to log the poop anymore but you still have to make note of how often it’s happening and be alarmed if it’s not enough or too much or if it’s too hard or too soft. Then after a year or so, you get to potty train! I could go into details about all the places I have found poop during this process with my older two, but I will sum it all up by sharing with you the fact that my oldest stopped me from doing dishes by pulling on my shirt, “here go mommy” as I go to grab it, and by IT- YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS, right!? Anyways, as I go to stop myself from grabbing it, I begin to question everything about life and I also begin to wonder, “does this count as potty training?” Okay so I’ll give you a minute to recover from that now that we’ve touched base on years 1-3. The next chapter, 4-6, is what I like to call, Skids. I feel skids is a reasonable name for this phase of child rearing because it rings true for more than just in their underwear, which is frequent might I add. You know how kids wipe their hands all over their clothes or whatever they’re sitting on while eating something messy? Now, equate that to pooping. Horrifying, right? I’ve found a skid on the WALL and I’ve found skids on the outside of the toilet multiple times. Worse than any horror flick is the unsuspecting skid of poop that makes its appearance known while you’re innocently minding your own dang business! Then there’s the inside of the toilet- because their little butts only go so far back, at least half the time there’s poop missing the water of the flush. Why don’t they prepare us for these things? I don’t know, but that’s what I’m here for. The mere mention of poop sends these little creatures you’ve created into a laughing frenzy and don’t even get me started on farts. I’ve quite literally sat and watched my daughter shit herself trying to push out a fart to be funny. As I’m watching it unfold, her faces goes from that of laughter and entertainment to “uh oh” followed by concern and regret. To answer your question, of course, she was warned of the possibility. Aren’t they always, though? They never want to listen to mamas warning and then end up suffering the consequences and in this case, the consequences stunk. Pun intended. The second time I’ve dealt with a potty trained child of mine pooping themselves was a day to remember. It was beautiful outside and I got the urge to walk with them to the park in our neighborhood which is about a mile from our home. I put the baby in a carrier on my back in an effort to “get a workout in.” Hindsight, I probably endangered him back there from being keeled over in pain laughing so hard! Anyways, we get to the road that leads us to the park and my middle child says he has to poop. At this point, there’s no turning back around and making it home to the toilet. So I tell him the end is near and to just focus on the finish line, he can poop in the woods! The further we get down this street that seems like it’s got to be the longest one in our neighborhood, the more he begins to quite literally waddle and sigh. At this point, I’m already weak and crying at the waddle but I pick up on the fact, it’s indeed, what my mom refers to as “turtle heading.” So I tell him to clench his buttcheeks and we all kind of pick up the pace. We get to the last of two houses on the street and we can see the park and we all start cheering! Then I watch as the excitement turns into panic on his face and his head starts to look down at the ground and everything becomes slow motion. “NOOOOOOOOOO!” Screams my daughter in absolute horror as poop plops onto these poor innocent peoples driveway. I immediately search for signs of life near their windows, expecting the poop police to come out and yell at us for having pooped in their driveway. Then I realize there’s no one at the window and remind myself to mother my son who’s momming me as I come back to reality. “Mommy! I JUST SHARTED ON THEIR DRIVEWAY! I couldn’t hold it! My buttcheeks just weren’t strong enough! What are we gonna do!?” I look at the dollop of poop that made its way out onto the ground and make my way up my sons legs with my eyes to discover the trail the poop had taken on it’s way down. I can’t breathe because at this point panic and laughter had taken over my body. Tears are rolling down my face and I forget I even have a baby on my back. I wish my mom was here to tell me what to do right now as I forget I’m the mom and they’re seeking direction from me. I called my boyfriend to deliver us a care package to the corner by the park and said an unspoken apology to the neighbors with the gift in their driveway. They honestly don’t prepare you for these things and I hope my message can help enlighten those of you on the fence about having children, MOTHERHOOD = POOP.