The Poop

My 3 year old is recently potty trained. Too recently perhaps. The traumatic memories are still pretty painful. One memory in particular still brings a tear to my eye and the red hot flush of humiliation to my cheeks. One Saturday, not long after I had given birth to my beautiful daughter, my BFF and her 3 year old invited us for a playdate at a local bookstore. It has a coffee shop and a kids area; the perfect combination. I was all for it. I left the baby with her dad, made sure my son had had one last trip to the potty, and headed out. I should mention that I completely forgot the emergency bag with wipes, Pull Ups, change of clothes, and extra undies. I should also mention that my son was not totally comfortable with the concept of public toilets. I'd like to say that it was because of the idea of putting his hands where someone else's ass had so recently been sitting grossed him out a little (like it does me) but it had more to do with how loud public toilets tend to be when they flush.

Soon after our arrival, my son let me know that he had to go potty. Usually, I was able to get him through a public toilet experience with some encouragement and hand holding but not today. Today he was adamant he was not going to use the public toilet. I explained to him that if he didn't go potty, we'd have to go home. He finally conceded and very quickly, hopped on, dripped a little pee, and hopped off begging me not to flush it. I sent him to stand by the sinks while I flushed, we washed hands, and headed back to the train table. As he and his friend were playing and me and my friend were talking, I saw a familiar look on his face. You know the one, we've all seen it. Perhaps it starts with a look of intense concentration followed by a red nose, or a slight squat and a determined glare.Whatever it looks like, any one who's ever parented a child knows it. It's the poop face. "NNOOOO!!!" I yelled as I reached for his hand to lead him to the potty. We very nearly made it but he did get a little on his undies. No big deal, I thought. He insisted that he did not need to sit on the toilet. Because of the new baby, I hadn't had a normal adult conversation with another woman in quite a few weeks and was desperate for the company so I very stupidly chose to trust my public potty paranoid son, tossed the dirty undies, cleaned him up, and headed back out once again this time with a toddler sans underpants.

Pretty soon the boys were playing again, I was starting to feel like a little of the newborn isolation haze was lifting, and things were looking up. Then once again, that face. This time it was accompanied with a little grunt. "NNOOOO!!!" I yelled again as I reached for his hand but this time it was too late. What was done, was done. And it was done sans underpants. More specifically, it was done in a just a loose pair of khaki shorts sans underpants. I told my friend to text me later and hustled out of there as fast his little legs would move. As we were nearing the exit to the children's section, I thought I saw a brown lump sneak out from his shorts. Can't be, I thought, my mind is playing tricks on me. I felt a rush of blood in my cheeks and tears began to well up in my eyes. Can't be, can't be, can't be, I thought as we continued to rush to the car. In the car, I of course proceeded to have a full on meltdown. Hormonal, exhausted, frustrated, I could see the concerned look on my son's face as we drove home but he didn't say a single word.

Once we got there, I passed him off to my very confused husband and explained what had happened through tears as I watched my husband stifle his laughter for my sake, I heard the text message alert on my phone. No, I thought, it's her. She's going to either confirm or deny what I may or may not have seen as we left the store. Can't be, can't be, can't be.

Oh but it could be. And it was. Not only had I in fact seen what I thought I had seen, someone had stepped in it and some poor store employee was left to clean it up. A part of me wanted to call the store and apologize; to send flowers to the poor store employee, to let them know that had I not had an underpantsless toddler and no back up clothes, I would have been happy to, ok not happy to, but I would have cleaned up the mess myself. The other part of me wanted to start looking at houses on the east coast and move immediately. I didn't call the store and I didn't move and eventually my son got over his fear of public toilets. I did however, avoid that store for many many months and I still consider placing a bag over my head any time I find that I have to go in there.

The thick of it....

I'm in the thick of it. Motherhood that is. I'm tired,  I live in work out clothes or in pajamas, I can't remember when I last washed my hair. I am either frantically trying to get something done (cooking, laundry, grading papers, a work out) or trying not to move so as not to disturb the sleeping baby and/or toddler in my arms. In my daydreams, my kids are older. They sleep through the night, they are potty trained, they don't need me to dress them or bathe them. They don't need me to buckle them into car seats or wipe their runny noses. Forget the empty nest, I'd just like to get passed the stage where diapers are a regular purchase and no one needs rails on their beds. I day dream about getting a massage or wearing pretty clothes. Buying a pair of high heels or spending an entire day in bed watching TV. I day dream about spending quality time with my husband without worrying if my kids are ok or if we've been gone too long. I daydream about sleep.

And then I feel guilty because so often I hear, "Enjoy it, it goes by too fast." Followed by a story about grown kids and the passage of time told by mothers who miss their babies. I know some day I will be that mother too. I will miss the feeling of a baby sleeping on my chest, the sticky hands of a toddler. I will miss tiny feet and seemingly endless energy. I will miss the firsts. First teeth and first steps. First haircuts. First birthdays. First days of pre-school. And countless other firsts that I haven't been privy to yet because as far as motherhood goes, I am still a newcomer to the club. 

But I'm in the thick of it and sometimes I want to scream, "I'm trying!" And I am trying, I really am. But I'm tired, I live in work out clothes or pajamas, I can't remember the last time I washed my hair. This morning I cried because I couldn't find my keys and my son was late to pre-school and the teacher doesn't like it when the kids interrupt circle time. I've rewashed the same load of laundry four times because I keep forgetting I'm supposed to be doing laundry. I smell like spit up because my newborn managed to puke down my shirt and into my bra and I don't have another clean bra that fits me right now. I have baby weight to lose and a husband who most definitely feels neglected but is doing his best to keep his mouth shut about his needs (mostly because he knows how easily I cry and doesn't like to be the cause of my tears). I have a horrible c-section scar on my abdomen that still hasn't healed properly and more stretch marks than smooth skin. The last time I showered I forgot to shave both legs. On top of having a house to run and kids to raise, I have 50 freshmen that are counting on me to get them through their very first English class which means countless emails to return and scoldings to dish out; pats on the back that sometimes require more effort than the "good job!" I throw my toddler's way when he's mastered a new task. I have a boss who more often than not calls when my house is in chaos and one kid is screaming and the other one is singing and a Thomas movie is playing for the nine hundreth time while the dishwasher is going and my phone was hidden under Elmo because "Elmo wanted to play the puzzle game on Mama's phone." 

And then there are those moments when I realize what it is I'm supposed to enjoy. I want to bottle the smell of my daughter's fuzzy hair as she sleeps on my chest. I want to never forget the face that my son makes when he tells me, "I love you so much too, Mama." I want to stop time and keep my two babies in my arms forever. I want to capture the feeling of a sticky little hand in mine and a tiny fist wrapped around my finger. I want to read the bed time stories and kiss the bumped heads and put a Band-Aid on the often imaginary wounds. I want to play trains with my son and watch my sweet baby girl figure out that the if she kicks hard enough, she can get her sock off. I want to look both ways before we cross the street and jump so high off of every curb. I want to laugh with my husband late at night in bed about the silly things our boy says or the funny faces our tiny girl makes.

I want to be totally and completely in the thick of it.