It’s a “Dirty Job”

My guilty pleasure?  A jumbo pack of cleaning wipes!

If you were hoping for a deep thought provoking blog post today – this is not it.  I’ll get back on track later this week but for now I’m just gonna keep it real and share a bit of my day.

As I’ve mentioned before I hope this blog does a lot of things….and one of those things would be that I hope to make you laugh.

Laughing really is the best medicine and I must say I got a healthy dose today.  For those of you who don’t know me very well allow me to paint a bit of a picture.  I have what you would call “obsessive compulsive behaviors” (Don’t believe me?  Ask my boss – he’s a Psychiatrist.  Or my husband….he’s not a Psychiatrist but he does have a PhD in understanding me and hasn’t been allowed to leave the toaster on the counter for 12 years!)

I enjoy cleaning and being clean.  I like everything to have a place and for that place to be spic and span.  I may be addicted to Clorox Cleaning Wipes and will proudly admit I consider the cleaning aisle at the grocery store to be the fun “splurge” aisle.  (I know – I have a problem.  But it’s a very clean, shiny, organized problem and I like my problems that way so let’s go with it.)

Now, let’s reconcile the above confession with the fact that I am the Mommy to our sweet Ransom (pictured above: GUSH!).  I am head over heels for this darling little man.  He looks just like his Daddy, and so far his sparkling blue eyes and the scar from my c-section are the only proof I have that he’s mine.  (My husband likes to point out that his “dominant genes” stole the show on this little marvel but that’s fine by me.  I think both my guys are handsome.)

Though Ransom is, in fact, related to me; he does NOT share my passion for things being neat and clean and in their place for the most part.  He seems to delight in disarray.  If something is folded, he prefers it be unfolded.  If something is clean, he prefers it be covered in a healthy layer of drool with a touch of spit up if he’s feeling spicy.  And I imagine when he gets older he will join his father in the fight to have the toaster housed on my shiny clean countertops; but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  However, when his diaper becomes even slightly unpleasant he has a zero tolerance policy.  (Be still my neat freak heart; the boy at least likes one area of his life/body to be clean!!)

We just got home from a weekend in Indiana (or the Promised Land as I like to call it; I’m a proud Hoosier girl).  Ransom had a delightful time visiting with Grandma and Grandpa and flirting with everyone who came within the flirt zone.  (FYI – Ransom’s flirting radius is approximately 20 feet around him in any given public environment.  Ladies are drawn to his charms like a moth to a flame.  I am going to be in big trouble when the teen years arrive).

Turns out all that flirting takes a lot out of a boy so Ransom was ready to have a nice long welcome home nap.  I took him upstairs to put him down for a nap and thought I would go ahead and do a quick diaper check to make sure he was all set for a good snooze.

And then….it happened.  Ransom is just cooing and smiling and being all sorts and shapes of ridiculously cute and then I opened the diaper and BAM!  There is poop EVERYWHERE.  I don’t even know quite how it happened.  But in one quick motion I managed to open up the diaper and Ransom decided it was a good time to roll over and grab the wipes to “help” Mommy.  Before I know it his hands are in the diaper (he’s a “hands on” sort of helper) and I’m desperately trying to contain the mess.  Wipes are flying, he’s frustrated and wiggling, and smearing everything everywhere.  I am embarrassed to say I can neither confirm, nor deny that fecal matter may have made its way into his mouth.  I know.  I know.  You have to keep their hands out of the nastiness and certainly need to be sure it NEVER nears their mouth but I’ve got to be honest here.  My boy may (or may not) have eaten poop.  I was (and still am) horrified.  Clearly, I am now out of the running for Mother Of The Year.  (I had grand plans for that trophy)

I feverishly wiped everything down with baby wipes and yet the mess still evaded me.  My target cleaning area was mobile and the more I tried to contain the mess the more Ransom decided to “help” me – further implicating himself in the unpleasantries.  And then all at once in the midst of this massacre the boy locked eyes with me – gave me a big smile and laughed hysterically.  Apparently he recognized that Mommy looked like she was out of her league and of course he thought that was quite funny.

I snapped out of my intensity and it was as if in that moment God whispered “Poop Happens”.  I was cracking up.  We both had a good laugh and after about 100 wipes we got the situation under control.  By the time it was all said and done there had been poop up his back, on his belly, in both hands, on his arms, on my arms (up to my elbow no less), and in his mouth (though that is speculation).

So in the midst of my day my little man reminded me of the profound truth that “Poop Happens”.  And when it does you struggle through it, clean it up, and carry on.  Together.

And the best part?  Incredibly, the onesie was spared.  (Proof that God still performs miracles; because trust me when I tell you that was on par with the miracle of the parting of the Red Sea.  Seriously.)

Being a Mom is hard and messy.  It’s a “dirty job” – and I’m glad I get to do it.

Here’s to a fabulous week….



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