The Bowels of Childrearing
As my parents were leaving Kyle’s birthday party, Dad asked my mom, “Which of your kids liked to play with their poop?”
*****
I was sitting on the couch when Taylor crawled onto my legs, laid her face on my leg and bit me. BIT ME! So I put her in her crib. I heard her playing a little bit. I washed dishes, made lunch, put laundry to dry on the line, blah blah blah. I put my ear to her door and heard nothing. She fell asleep, I thought. I went on with my business. Some moments later, Ty walked into the room. I heard him mumbling something to Dad, something about poop. I hung my head. She dug into her diaper, I thought. So I followed Dad and Ty into the room. Dad took one look at Taylor and said, “Eeeeewwwwww! Taylor, you have poop everywhere.”
Now, I know Dad to use hyperboles every so often – and it’s April Fool’s Day, so I wasn’t worried. “She has it in her nose,” he added.
WHAT?
Taylor had dug into her diaper and spread the fecal matter on the bedsheet, onto both hands, into her hair, and all over her face! She looked like she was having skin treatment! “Taylor, you’re going to get sick!” I exclaimed. I picked her up by the crooks of her arms (the only parts of her body that seemed feces-free) and put her in the tub. She didn’t want to be in there. I had trouble taking her dress off. She wanted her hands washed first
Dad thought that it was funny, and I have to admit, it was a little funny after I realized that she didn’t get any in her eyes. It took me three washdowns to get her clean. I soaped and scrubbed and shampooed and rinsed and soaped and scrubbed, et cetera, for almost ten minutes. I’m sure glad that’s over.
But we know that it’s not really over.
