Parenthood comes with many profound life changes. Before kids, “sleeping in” meant waking up somewhere around lunch time. Now any sleep beyond 6:00am feels like you’re on vacation. You find that a trip to the grocery store requires just as much preparation and advanced planning as climbing Mount Everest. And you begin to understand the saying “everything but the kitchen sink” as you survey the trunk of your car after packing for an afternoon at the park.
But there is one change that no one seems to mention in the myriad of “getting ready for baby” books—the diaper change. Yes, let’s just face it. As a new parent your comfort in dealing with and speaking of bodily functions changes dramatically. How could it not? Parents change diapers all day, and even if you are one of those incredibly rare and very fortunate few who can boast that your child “was born potty trained”, there are still messes to be dealt with.
For me, the moment of change occurred a little over three years ago during my first week as a stay at home mom. Joshua was a cute little guy, peeing and pooping like he should until, splat! All over the bedroom wall, changing table, and a pile of clean cloth diapers—explosive poop. My life has never been the same.
I am occasionally harkened back to that foreboding day. On this particular Saturday morning I neither hoped nor expected to have reason to remember such a messy tale. Like many Saturday mornings we experienced some grumpiness from the little guys, had fun coloring, enjoyed some yummy pancakes, and said good bye to Daddy who was heading out for a long day of rehearsals. Oh, yeah…and there was a blow-out diaper from Abigail. But what’s a little newborn poop to start the day?
Diaper changes used to be simple around here. The morning of that memorable spray from our firstborn was a straightforward clean up—baby first and then the rest. But what happens when you’re baby is on the changing table, soaked in yellow poop, and you hear a suspicious running of fluids from the bathroom where your two-year-old potty-trainee was last seen struggling with her pants? You ditch the baby (sorry Abby!) and get out the mop.
After the bathroom and potty-recruit were clean I thought I would be able to finish up the original diaper change. But a loud crash from the bedroom put Abby on pause one more time. I walked to find our middle child, Hannah, pinned underneath the toy shelf, which had been emptied only moments before the fall. Hannah wasn’t hurt, just a little startled. After a cuddle and a brief prayer, I made it back to the littlest one whose diaper, I discovered, needed a bit more than a change.
Off to the bathtub we went. While bathing Abigail I thought to myself, “Well, we’re doing okay here. It certainly could be worse. It could be like that one day…”
That one day was about a year ago when Joshua learned to take off his diaper. It was also around the time when he stopped napping. Nap time was pretty much a horror until I was wise enough and willing enough to give it up. Upon hearing the nap timer, I never knew what would be awaiting me in the bedroom. And one day I experienced something of a nightmare.
And now a special not for anyone who has not (yet) encountered that first “you’ll laugh about it later” mess: Please read on with caution.
Upon opening the door I found poop smeared all over the floor. Although I was in tears, there was consolation in finding that the poop did not make it onto the carpet or the beds—praise the Lord! I even thought that later I may be able to laugh about the whole thing. And I did…eventually.
After reminiscing (if reminiscing can include such a frightful state of affairs)poor patient Abigail made it as far as the changing table, clean, dry, and naked before my attention was drawn to the bedroom where I found Joshua and Hannah playing with (you guessed it) a giant poop sitting on the floor.
All I could think was, “Really?!” I contemplated crying. I considered yelling. I even wondered if running away was a viable option for a grown mother of three. But circumstances like this don’t generally allow time for such questions, especially when there are two curious kids who are ready to find out what the poop is really made of. I had to think fast. The game plan: isolate the mess, dress the naked baby, clean up the toddlers, and tackle the bedroom.
Once operation clean up was complete, I found myself with three kiddos, clean inside and out. And what did I do? I began writing this little entry on poop. Why write? In part to encourage other parents that they do not tread the messy path of parenthood alone. The changes that each of us face upon the arrival of a fully dependent little bundle of joy, are common. Even those unmentionable changes having to do with, well…poop. Just ask at your next playgroup and you’ll see how many diaper explosions are represented in your circle of friends.
If the truth be fully told, I also wrote for my own mental and emotional wellbeing. Perhaps writing would bid that elusive “later” to come sooner than it might if left only to time? I think that it worked. By the middle of the day “later” came. And I laughed heartily.
