One thing I know better than anyone is the color, consistency, and frequency of my children’s poop. I wouldn’t say I’m particularly proud of this state of affairs, but it is a fact of motherhood. We figure out how to handle crap, literally and figuratively.
We carry in our minds a long list of thoughts and worries for our children, and, for the first years of their lives, their poop reigns supreme. It’s one of the fastest ways for us to know if our children are nourished and healthy. It’s the source of some of the most memorable parenting moments, and it’s a topic that mothers can talk about ad nauseam (Exhibit A: this article).
Poop consumes so much of our mental energy and physical time. I could go on and on about diaper explosions that are seemingly backed by jet propulsion, the ridiculous promises I’ve made in the name of potty training, the sentences I’ve uttered out of sheer defeat during toilet training regressions, and the considerable concern I’ve had when faced with a constipated kid, but I won’t because you have the same stories (or you will, just wait). My only purpose in writing to you today is to let you know that I see you, Mom, Keeper of the Poop.
I see you researching cloth vs. disposable diapers (More power to you cloth ladies. All the prayer and praise emoji hands for the elimination communication crowd).
I see you painstakingly tracking your newborn’s wet and dirty diapers on your newly downloaded app.
I see you shoving your nose to your baby’s diaper without a second thought, assessing the smell for a toot or a turd.
I see you MacGyvering a solution when there’s not a changing table to be found.
I see you analyzing the contents of a dirty diaper, and, yes, we’ve all compared it to a chart of poop pictures.
I see you battling diaper rashes that pain your little one and pain your heart.
I see you reading up on the extensive list of potty training methods and wondering when to begin.
I see you cleaning up pee and poop from the floor and packing extra undies and pants in your bag for longer than you’d hoped.
I see you flipping through your mental calendar, tracking and recalling the recent schedule of your child’s poops.
I see you coaxing your child to eat more fruits and veggies and spiking your kid’s drink with natural remedies (or good ol’ Miralax) to get things moving again.
I see you wiping your kid’s butt and wishing for the day when he’ll do it himself, only to learn that when that day arrives, skid marks also enter your lives.
I see you, mom, to a child with special needs, doing all of the above for much longer than the rest of us.
I see you, and I raise my pack of wipes to you. We are moms, keepers of the poop, the least glamorous title that we hold, but one that unites us all.
