Poop

I have decided that my entire life revolves around poop. From the moment I wake up, I'm changing diapers, hunting down the dog's latest transgression, and cleaning the cat box. Naturally, Miss S loves to assist in the diaper changes. Her face is aglow at seeing mommy after a long sleep. Her cheeks are rosy red and her eyes big and bright. The odor from her diaper greets me, "Good morning sunshine! If you weren't awake before, you sure are now!" PU! From the second I say, "I smell a poopy," she's off. Like somekind of race horse she dashes around the kitchen table and into the living room, as fast as those chubby little legs will carry her. THWAP THWAP Scuffle... she's climbed onto the couch and over it onto the end table and is now climbing up the stairs like a monkey. The stairs are her downfall. Once she can go up on two legs, I'm screwed. For now she still crawls, so for now I can catch her. Wrestling her down is the next step. As Margaret before her, Miss S has learned the gracefull art of arching her back when she is being lifted, and as soon as she feels that she is going down, she stiffens. Twannngggg. Board girl. This is fantastic for getting her to lie down and un-doing her diaper. I can't get it off though becuase she's cemented herself to the ground.

Now, if I'm lucky, the poopy is the little hard turds. These I can pick it up and place in a diaper wipe and throw away and re-fasten the diaper. Fast, easy, I wash my hands with scalding water, we're good to go. Unless the diaper's wet or she's squished it. If there's any residue on her or the diaper, I won't reuse it. Thus begins round two.

Round two. Ding Ding Ding. Chances are I'm not lucky. A lucky person's life does not revolve around poop. I manage to drag the diaper out from under Susan's butt. Once it's almost all the way out from underneath her, I grab her ankles and yank her up. And hold her there. And hold her there. And hold her there. Because wouldn't you know it, the wipes are just out of reach. As they always are. I don't care if i staple them to me, for whatever reason, when I need them to wipe a poop, they're just out of reach. Susan has sensed my hesitation and has taken the moment to twist as best she can. This results in poopy getting all over me. If I'm lucky. If I'm not so lucky, it also gets on the carpet, couch, whatever she's laying on. It's at this point I call in the dog.

"Marcie!" Marcie bounds over and seeing a baby on her back, proceeds to lick her. Which makes Susan stop squirming, so I can grab the wipes and do my job. As soon as that cold wet wipe touches Miss S, she clenches. It's at this point I'm hot, sweaty, and plain fed up. I do the best I can and am as gentle as I can be. I finally get the new diaper on and let her go. Miss S lays on the floor and just stares at me. NOW she's still and helpful. I tell her I'm done and she can get up. Susan stares at me and doesn't move. I finally lift her up and set her on her feet again.

I go to get Miss M some juice or "only chocolate milk with sugar." As I'm handing Miss M her cup, I hear a grunting noise. Oh yes. It is. Miss S has pooped again. We begin the whole messy dance again and the whole time I'm telling her, "If you don't want your diaper changed, stop pooping!"

Hopefully I've remembered to let the dog out. Marcie is getting older and can't always hold it the whole night through. Chances are I've got a pile on the carpet somewhere and have to clean that up too. One morning I awoke to a Gosh Aweful Smell. G.A.S. (Ever notice that before?) Marcie had diareahha. Inside. For about 4 hours. As soon as I had one spot cleaned up, she had another one made. Just put her outside you say. I did. Several times. She's either Houdini or the devil. I'm still working out which. I ended up pulling out the steam cleaner and doing the entire 2nd floor. I sent the kids to thier room to play and steam cleaned everything in sight. It was in cups, baby toys, in the carpet, on rugs, ironically on the diapers... YUCK! Naturally, once all of this was finally cleaned up (which took at least another 2 hours) Susan had a dirty diaper.

I cheated and put her in the tub. I was exhausted. Except she got me back and pooped in the tub. I bundled both girls into the downstairs bathtub and finished washing them. And damn it all, I left the poopy in that upstairs tub for 3 days. I had had enough BMs to last me a lifetime. Once I found out my mom in law was coming though, I did clean the poopy out of the tub. But it was still 3 days later so There! :P

Miss S and Marcie are poop machines. Everytime I turn around... I swear. Then there's the cat. Shelby is very patient and tolerant of us. She understands I'm busy and can't always cater to her. How many cats can you say that about? If she's out of water, she drinks from the toilet or sinks. Very self sufficent. If she's out of food, she'll eat the dog's or will kill a mouse of bird. However, when it comes to her litter box, she won't stand for much. Today I heard her meeaooowwwinggg. I ran downstairs into the laundry room, where the litter box and food is at. There was plenty of fresh food and water and I'm not seeing her. Maybe she's stuck behind the water heater again. I take another look around the room and there is Shelby sitting next to a very very full litter box. She's staring at me as if to say, "Ok, this is going too far. Clean it Now hooman!" I went back upstairs to get a garbage bag and that cat MEEAAOOOWWWWEEEDDD the whole time i was upstairs fetching it and on my way back downstairs. Once I was back downstairs, she stopped and stared. Waiting. "Now hooman. I hasa poopy!"

Everyday is quite the same. Get up. Change a poop. The toilet clogs because Miss S shoved a crayon down it Clean up a poop. Feed them so they can make a poop so I can clean a poop. Change the litter. Clean a poop. Kiss goodnight. Miss M runs downstairs. "MAMA! Susan's poopy in her diaper and it stinks. I need you to change her right now." Give her a bit of water so she'll poop. Hubby hands her to me- Susan pooped and I just can't handle it. Meanwhile, I'm the one who is pulling crap out of the drain with my bare hands. Ladies- you are only ready to have a child when you can touch human feces with your bare hands and be ok with it.

Bringing those girls into existnace required pooping. When I was delivering Miss M, I screamed at the nurse I had to poop. She said to just go. Most women do. This was the first time I heard of it. Why don't they tell you this in high school during the no sex talks?!?! I bet half of women would avoid having children if they knew they were going to poop infront of other people. Looking back, it makes sense. It's not like they're going to haul you over to a toilet as the baby is crowning. They should, but they don't.

Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that our lives revolve around poop. We come into this world with poop. We leave this world with poop.

In closing, I would like to add, that it has taken me 2 weeks to post this single blog. Everytime I sit down to write it, I get about a sentance or two in when Susan poops and I have to get up and change her. Coincidence? I think not

Ah, as a post thought- I will be starting a sex education and birth class. It will be designed for young girls just coming into puberty. We will discuss the changes their bodies will undergo and how you know you are ready for sex when you can touch poop without freaking out. The pregnant mothers may join for the second half of the class which will focus on pushing in my newly patented birthing table. There's a special hole with a black baggie attached. For easy clean up. ;)