The Scoop on Poop

For the last 5+ years there has not been a day when my hands have not touched fecal matter in some way or another.  For starters, there has always been a child in diapers since 2007.  So between diapers, pull-ups, soiled underwear, etc., I have dealt with poop every day of my life since my oldest was born.

Before I became a mother I was sure that poop was isolated to dirty diapers. However, my first newborn quickly taught me the truth behind that.  Newborns have a special way of making poop a day long cleaning-up adventure and that lesson began with the first diaper "blow-out" that I experienced.  Nothing had quite prepared me for the red faced grunting that resulted in something only physics can explain when the fecal matter is propelled so forcefully that nothing can contain it as it shoots up the back up the diaper.  It is most unfortunate when the baby is sitting on my lap when this occurs as I become the object that catches the skat since it skipped the diaper altogether.

The diaper change that I expected turned into washing the baby's clothes and my clothes, bathing the baby and showering myself.  I quickly learned that in addition to bringing a spare change of clothes for baby in the diaper bag that a spare shirt was just as necessary for myself.  I also learned that newborns poop 8-10 times a day, causing the likelihood of experiencing a blowout that much more.

I have cleaned poop off of car seats, swings, clothing, high chairs, an airplane seat belt, legs, arms, hands, faces, hair, diner floors, garage floors, carpet, back-yard, and I am sure many more places.

I mentioned physics earlier.  I am not a smart person and science and math are absolutely my worst subjects so I know that I can't explain the physics behind some defecating mysteries.  One such mystery occurred in a restaurant when my 9 month old dirtied his diaper while sitting in the high chair.  I waited for him to finish his business, and took him to the bathroom to clean him up.  As I pulled his pants down I was baffled.  There were traces of doo on his legs but the diaper was empty.  Then my husband's aunt came in the bathroom to clean off her shoe as she had stepped in the dirty business out on the diner floor.  This is another odd phenomenon when the poop missed the diaper altogether.  As I lifted him out of his chair I guess it fell out the bottom of his pant leg and onto the floor, and nobody noticed.  At least until Aunt Liz stepped in it.  We quickly cleaned the restaurant and vacated it, never to patron them again.

Just when I thought that potty training would bring an end to the daily endeavor of submerging my hands in fecal matter, toddlerhood taught me that it only gets better.....and messier.  After all, a baby can't poop on the floor, step in it and run away leaving a trail of poopy footprints on the white carpet.

It is also completely appropriate for a baby to defecate in their pants (diaper on, of course), where as a whole new level of nastiness is achieved when a toddler does it.  Which makes it all the more difficult when shopping in a store and your four-year old yells, "Mommy, I gotta poop, NOW!"  The mad dash of finding a bathroom with three kids in tow is quickly exacerbated by the moronic policy of many stores that won't allow you to use their bathrooms. 

I don't think I can ever visit the store again where I grabbed all three kids as fast as I could under my arms, cursed out loud at the clerk for not allowing a child to poop in their store and wished them fun putting away the things I would have bought from them, all the while making a marathon run across the parking lot to the grocery store and discovering the bathroom was all the way in the back of that store.  While I cleaned out the underwear in a public bathroom, I have to explain why we didn't get the cool party hats and balloons at the other store and that no, we definitely could not go back for them.  And you better believe I am making a list of all the stores who have denied my children access to their bathrooms....there's a special place in Hell for them and I am emailing St. Peter the list.

As if the burden cleaning it isn't enough, there is additional embarrassment when an older child verbalizes their need to make a meadow muffin.  This is especially great when they describe it as tricky diarrheas, or when declaring desperately in front of the home teachers that, "Mommy, Help. I need to go poop...I can't handle myself."  This of course, is right on cue as our home teachers were looking forward to our home because my husband read one of my blog posts and talked about poop from the pulpit during Sacrament meeting.  They felt like there was something to be seen at the Groff's, and we were sure to not disappoint.

Being a mother to three small children has provided me with ample opportunities of public restroom  nightmares.  The in-stall recap goes a little something like this: Halfway through the dookie being done, finally get them on the toilet to finish.  Try to gently pull of their underwear without smearing it down their legs, try to wrap dirty undies in a paper towel and stuff it in the diaper bag, keep children #2 and #3 from pulling off the entire roll of TP or playing with the special garbage for women, or escaping underneath the wall to the next stall, or waving to the person in the next stall while poking their heads underneath.  After getting the children under control and choosing to relieve myself, there's nothing quite like the exposure that comes when the 3 year old opens the stall door and takes off running with the 1 year old following behind.  We just love running errands together.

In addition to cleaning up potty accidents, I get to clean up potty on-purposes.  These include deliberate defecation in places that were not intended for potty use.  This has occurred on the living-room floor, garage floor, and most recently the favorite place is the backyard where the race is on to clean it up before the dog eats it.  And if you lose the race, be careful to not let the dog lick you that day.

Also, since my 5 year old absolutely refuses to wipe himself because this might render his hands number 2ish, I get the pleasure of taking care of that business.  But never fear, if I am not available, he will ask my 3 year old to do it and she gladly complies.  Thank goodness the dog hasn't been invited to help with this scenario, yet.  Clean up after this event is a little more involved.  I can't figure out why the 5 year old still asks the 3 year old to help.

Since my hands have daily contact with poop, I am thinking of marketing it as a beauty regimen.  Since manure is good for the garden, it must be good for the skin, right? Then I'm not a gross mom, I am a trendy spa endeavoring type.  There might be something to it.  So when you see me famous, just know it was a crappy five years that led to it.  I think the slogan will be, "When you want your hands to feel #1, just use #2!"