Another recycled post. This one's from November, 2008.
Hold your nose.
I promise to keep this post short because the topic ain't pretty. The more details and the more visuals I present the uglier it gets. So put down your lunch, if you managed to squeeze lunch into your crazy mom schedule today, and let me tell you about the most unfortunate part of mothering a small child: poop.
I said it: poop. And for heaven's sake, it's not a bad word. It's a perfectly normal act of human nature. But why, oh why, oh why, must it be so unpredictable and stinky and squishy and runny and ugly and smelly? And why, oh why, oh why, must I be the one to remove the remnants of it from my baby boy's butter-soft behind? And why, oh why, oh why, must I be the one who stacks "them" in a pile set aside for the "outside trash" as if I have become a collector-o-caca-doodoo?
Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful that my son poops. What goes in must come out. But certainly it didn't go in looking like that. And more importantly, it absolutely, positively did NOT go in smelling like that. So when I am peacefully and serenely (as if that ever happens) sitting near my son attempting to catch my breath, and I inhale (because that's called breathing), than why must that be the exact moment that my teeny, tiny child makes a face of I-think-I'm-gonna-blow followed by an odor that makes even my dog cower? How in the world is that possible? I've seen my child in the buff and his bottom end ain't that big. But the stench? It fills the house!
So I wonder, at what point will my sweet and precious young boy learn to do what the rest of us do when we must pass the substance accrued in our digestive tract - lock ourselves in a confined space, flip on the vent, flush the evidence down-down-down, wash up, and spray the area assuring absolute odor removal? That day cannot come soon enough.
Dear God of the flowers and the delicious scent of the seasons,
WHAT happened? You did such a superb job with nature - I am blown away every time I step outside and take in the fresh air. But my son, as natural of a being as there ever was, must simply have missed the flowery odor day of his creation. Because the air he passes is anything but fresh.
So what do you suggest? I do what I can to feed him delicious, yummy, and healthy goodies from your garden. Yet it never fails to re-enter the world in the most repulsive form.
I was thinking, as I watched a commercial for cat litter, that maybe we could work something out along those lines. If I could just train my son to go in a box full of powder fresh pellets, than I would simply scoop up the tiny flowers (because isn't it cuter to call it that), and flush the evidence away. So is he trainable? I'll let you know how it goes.
For now, I am investing in clothes hangers. I have them positioned around my home near the diaper changing stations, and you better believe that is the first thing I put on when it's time to change the diaper - a clip around my nose. Unfortunately my son thinks that funny, making him laugh, and causing him to squeeze out yet another foul-scented passing of air.
