I started this blog when I was on the brink of turning 30. I just knew really amazing things were on the horizon. I was on the brink of greatness. This next decade would inevitably be a life-changing, climactic, turn of events kind of chapter in this novel of my life. I turn 31 next week. You know what I didn’t expect my 30’s to be filled with...poop. I can honestly say, I never saw this one coming.
Don’t get me wrong, there have been some life-changing events. Some climatic and unexpected turn of events. We’ve essentially started a new life since I turned 30. But, it is also filled with a lot of poop. No one ever talked about this. Jennifer Gardner didn’t prepare me for this in Thirteen Going on 30. None of the reality shows alluded to this dark underbelly of the third decade of life.
I’m getting it from all sides. I have a toddler, I have a puppy, and weirdly enough, I even deal with this at work. No, I do not work with babies or at a daycare center, or even an elderly home. I’m an elementary school guidance counselor. I was trained to support the academic, career and social/emotional development of all students. Last week, we had a first grader “boom” on himself. This is what the elderly paraprofessional teacher says to me. “This little guy has boomed on himself and the nurse isn’t here.” Ma’am, I am the FEELINGS teacher, not the feces teacher. Where in my job description or training did I become qualified to deal with the boom? Little Mrs. Beasley did what she does and plastered a big smile and said, “well, come on, sweetheart, let’s go get you some clothes.” So.much.poop.
I thought work was my safe haven. I thought I could retreat to these four walls, and I would be secure and protected, but I was wrong. You see at home, Aaron and I are constantly surrounded by poop. We have a puppy, all he does is poop. Young is very street smart. He may be just shy of 3, but he knows what’s up. He sees dog poop and screams “Yucky poop!” Followed immediately by “Don’t eat it.” What? I mean, true don’t eat it, but where did you learn this? Did you, at some point, try to eat the poop and you were told not to? Did you learn this lesson on your own from experience? Are you concerned that your father and I do not understand the nature of poop? I can assure you, we have never told our son, “don’t eat it.” I thought this was understood.
I have been a mother for just shy of three years. I have been changing diapers every single day for like 1,000 days. I am so tired. When Young used the baby potty for the first time, I wasn’t home. Aaron sent me a picture message. You know you’re at rock bottom when you get excited about a picture of human feces. I celebrated. Who am I? When did my life become some glamorous?
Most of the time, it’s fine. You get those two-wipers that you can take care of in 1 breath. But sometimes, it’s a full blown state of emergency. Here’s a great example. Young is potty-training. We love that. He loves his big boy undies and his potty cookies. One problem. Well, actually two...probably more but 2 come to mind. Problem 1: Young refuses to poop in the toilet. He says “the potty is too little, it’s not big.” One evening last week, Young was playing in the driveway. He comes running in screaming “I poo poo outside!” Upon conducting an investigation, we find that, indeed, there is a pile of human feces in the middle of the driveway. This was a state of emergency. A six wiper. Poop all over the place. Popping a squat in the driveway is strongly discouraged. Young proceeded to hide behind the shrubbery for the next 10 minutes. I hope he was reflecting on what he has put his poor mother through. I hope he realized that was a horrible mistake never to be repeated. This is something I never even imagined when daydreaming of motherhood. Sure, you have to pick up after your dog, but to pick up your child’s poop in the driveway is unnatural. The second aforementioned problem is having to clean the potty. It’s not over until it’s over y’all.
Young knows he is supposed to poo poo in the potty. He walks around naming places that you should not poop. “Don’t poop in the floor, poop in the potty.” “Don’t poop on Lucy (dog), poo poo in the potty.” “Don’t poo poo in the bathtub, poo poo in the potty.” “Don’t go poo poo on the couch, poo poo in the potty.” You get the picture. This game goes on and on and on.
All I can say, as I approach 31, is that I have dealt with enough poop in the past year to cover this lifetime and the next. So, here’s to the end of 30. May my next days be free of poop and full of vodka. Cheers to 31 years!
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