By Guest Blogger Rachel Haggerty with The Witty Uterus
It’s officially Summer in our house. No more school, no more wake up calls. Somehow I have found I need an extra cup of coffee, added to the 7 that I drink in the mornings. Although there isn’t really a big routine going on around here, Summer is already stressing me out.
I know what you are saying, it shouldn’t be this way, Rachel!
Right, and I agree, I really do.
I would like to share something super personal about our children that I birthed.
In the Summer, they poop a lot.
I’m not talking about once a day like normal children. I am talking like, 3 or 17 times a day. It’s something that has been heavy on my heart to share with you. At the end of this blog you will find a GOFUNDME account for toilet paper that is needed for all the sh$%ts they are taking.
I’ve discovered that Summer to them means relaxation. Right? I mean, doesn’t everyone relax more in the Summer months. The beach, the pool, sun bathing, beer drinking on the beach. Although our children are only allowed to do certain of those listed, because we aren’t in Europe, they have found other ways to relax.
They poop.
Loading up the van for the pool, one kid screams they had to poop yet again, after going twice that morning.
“Ok, go ahead! I’ll wait here!”
“No, you have to wipe me!”
During our stay at the pool I had to watch my not-yet-potty-trained kid like a hawk. Knowing those certain facial features and hip movements that produce crap, I am an instant spotter of a swimmy diaper disaster. I have been traumatized way too many times to count from the liquid poop immersing from the bathing suit into the adult swimming pool.
That being said, all of our children like to poop at the pool. Like an excessive amount, to the point where I have contemplated setting up an open bar just for myself.
“Oh, you have to poop again. Cool. I’ll just be here sipping on my Corona with lime. “
This time in particular all was the same, so much poop.
We left to go to the grocery store to get dinner supplies. All three children were in one of those amazing carts with the TWO steering wheels that HATE me, because one child is always out of a wheel. That third wheel phrase was invented by a Mother using one of those carts. She was cussing under her breath as the third, left out child screamed on aisle 3.
“Mom I have to poop!“
“AGAIN? How do you have anything left in your body? Can you hold it until we get home?”
“Yes.”
So we left. Halfway home said child starts saying they cannot hold the poo any longer. I began to sweat thinking of cleaning up a poop infested car seat.
“MOM! PULL OVER RIGHT NOW I HAVE TO POOP!”
So I did. I got off the exit, put the van in park and put a diaper on a child old enough to marry in some countries. I felt violated, and concerned for the smell that was about to enter the van.
The business was done, as the youngest child slept peacefully in her car seat. Blissfully unaware of the great stench coming from her sibling. The one she looks up to the most. Thank God her eyes didn’t have to see the horror beside her as I clean said child up. I vowed to take this child out of my will when the poo got on my foot.
“SEE MOM! THAT WASN’T BAD AT ALL! I FEEL GREAT NOW!’
Well I had poop in places I couldn’t find in their entirety. I just vowed to shower in bleach when I returned home.
Believe me, I’ve prayed about starting a support group. But the reality is that I will not be able to attend. Someone will be pooping. Maybe not even my kids. Maybe I’ll be pooping. Oh dear Lord. It could happen to me too.
If you see me at the pool with my children, just hand me a clean swimmy diaper and some bleach. It is most likely that one of my offspring has relaxed way too much during Summer Vaca.
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