Oh, poopies. The irony of naming myself Poopie Mommy has become like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Literally. Just when I think we’re moving forward in this house, my youngest daughter, D, brings me instantly back to reality – poopie reality that is. It might seem rather disgusting to you that I captured the excremental evidence with my camera, but the truth is, motherhood can often be a dirty business and even something as nasty as wiping poop on a towel, is still an important (albeit stinky visual ) reminder of we’re dealing with each and every day. 

Poor D. She just couldn’t get to the potty on time! She had a little tummy ache this morning (probably from all the pre-Halloween candy consumption over the weekend) She ran to the bathroom, but before she could plant herself on the potty, some poop starting coming out. I was downstairs packing their lunches for school when I heard the following: “Mommy, Hurry! Come upstairs and help me wipe my tush!” What? Help her wipe her tush? But she’s been completely potty-trained for a year! I was jarred by the request because I hadn’t wiped anything in many, many months. But if she’s calling me from the bathroom upstairs, she must really need my help. So off I go. And of course, you can imagine the scene when I arrive up there. Enter the poopie towel in the photo above.

D panicked and instead of getting toilet paper, she grabbed the first thing she saw: her princess towel hanging right next to her. And, yep, she wiped away! Ick. Besides getting on the towel, some of it ended up on the floor and part of her nightgown sleeve too. I swear to God. This shit (no pun intended) always happens when Poopie Daddy is out of town. It’s like Murphy’s law – for real. If there’s going to be an incident with bodily fluids of any kind (dog vomiting, wetting the bed or like today’s lovely fiasco of poop on the floor) it will undoubtedly occur at the worst possible time and when Poops here is flying solo. I can’t even count the times I’ve called him and said “you have no idea what you missed today” and the story always ends with me having to put something immediately in the wash and scrubbing my hands clean like crazy!

But, anyway, getting back to D. Of course, I wiped her, cleaned everything thoroughly and started a load in the wash. The incident itself was no big deal.  Kids poop, you clean it up. Been there, done that a million times. But, on the drive to preschool, I started thinking about how surprised I was, initially, when I heard D yelling for my help. I guess I hadn’t realized how I had become so used to her not needing me for things like that anymore – how independent she seems to me now. I started thinking about the phases of motherhood and all the different milestones and steps – both big and small – along the way, and how, just when you think you’re all through with one (like wiping ‘em up) they poop on a towel and remind you how much they still need you!

This is the thing about being a mom that I love the most – the being needed. I hadn’t come to anyone’s rescue in awhile and even though it was a stinky, messy poop, I love that D wanted me to help her and that I was the only one who could make it better and clean her up and tell her it was okay that she didn’t make it to the potty. It’s easy to get caught-up in how gross it is or annoying it is when these accidents happen and lose sight of the meaning of the moment. Yes, even poopie has meaning. At that moment this morning, D just needed her mama to come upstairs, comfort her, not make her feel bad for wiping with the towel, and get her cleaned up and happy again. I found myself overjoyed actually at the fact that I didn’t scold her or get upset at all. I kind of relished in the notion that she needed me to help her like this. As I’ve blogged before, they do grow up so ridiculously fast. I thought I was so relieved to be out of the “poopie wiping era,” but when it all went down this morning, I couldn’t believe how thrilled I was to be back in it. My baby still needed me in a way that she hadn’t in quite some time and it felt good to swoop in take care of her. 

It’s funny how even something as minor as a poop can bring back a flood of emotions and invoke a feeling in you that you didn’t realize you missed. You want your kids on the potty for so long and to be done with that whole changing, wiping stinky phase, but when it’s all gone, something like what happened in our house this morning occurs, and you kind of miss it. Independence is an amazing thing, and I certainly wouldn’t want my girls to digress or backslide into any kind of unhealthy, clingy behavior. This is not what I’m talking about when I say I like to be needed. It’s just really nice to know, that as they grow and become more and more self-sufficient, it’s wonderful to have these little, random moments where I still get to rescue them. 

The girls keep suggesting that Poopie Daddy and me go as superheroes on Halloween to match their Batgirl costumes, but I know, deep inside, I’m already a hero – their hero. And poops, that is a costume I can wear proudly for life.