My daughter just had diarrhea while wearing undies and pants and didn’t tell me. She then took off her pants and undies and got it all over her legs, arms and hands. Not to mention all over the floor.
At first I started to run away because…well obviously I don’t need to explain why I almost left. But I mom-ed up and started shouting instructions. I was like an army general giving orders to my troops going into battle. “Don’t move!”, “Stand still!”, “Don’t touch your butt!”
But then, I saw a milkshake emptying out on the new couch. I called for backup. My husband came down, saw the fear in my eyes and said “what do you want me to do!?” I assigned him the task of dealing with the milkshake soaked couch. I started tackling the bigger issue at hand.
Wipey, after wipey, after wipey. Soon I felt like I was winning the war.
But then I saw the footprints. My God the footprints. Their path leading to unknown areas. Where had they gone? Where had they been? So I bust out the Clorox wipes. I kept sanitizing and sanitizing.
Then, the pants. The undies were too far gone. I said a few words and tossed them in the trash. But the pants were showing signs of hope. So I began the task of carefully cleaning them enough to feel like throwing them into the washer wouldn’t contaminate all future washes.
Then, back to my child that was standing like a deer in the headlights. Like a statue of fear bc she’s never seen me frantic like this and knew she needed to accept all orders given.
I swooped her up and carried her as fast as I could to the bathtub. As I ran, I kept seeing flashes of all the horror I had seen. I shook the thoughts away and pushed on. I quickly turn on the tub, throw my child in and scrub her like she was coming out of a quarantined area.
Now as I write this, I fear sleep tonight for the possibility of reliving all of this in a nightmare. But I did it. I took on an evil beast and conquered it. Why? Because I’m a mom. And no amount of poop can scare me now.