Did I really sign myself up for this?

Five years ago, my farmer and I were struggling to produce little farmers.  We were told it would be highly unlikely that we would ever have children, with no particular reason of why.  I was crushed, as I really enjoyed children and I knew that what other purpose did I have on this Earth but to give love to my own babies.  Four years ago, I had resigned myself to "just get another dog and call it a day".  Lo and behold, I finally became pregnant with our first little farmer.

During the past 3 1/2 years, there has never been a "quiet" day in our house.  My farmer and I often remark how quiet and boring our lives must have been before kids-did we even speak???  I know the days & nights were not filled with giggles, laughing, singing & dancing, temper tantrums (okaaaaay, maybe that one a few times), fighting, crying, Treehouse TV, crayons and markers everywhere, snuggles, boogers, tears.  Or poop.

That's right, kid's surprisingly come with a HUGE amount of crap.  I mean that figuratively as well as literally.  Kids are expensive little animals, but the money just gets thrown to the back burner when they bump their head on the millionth toy they were told to pick up, and all they want is a snuggle and a kiss from Mom to make it feel "all better now".  In this day and age, yes, we do spend a TRAGIC amount of money on STUFF.  Jammies, clothes (I rarely buy "new" as we have an excellent children's consignment shop in Saskatoon), toys, snacks, diapers, wipes, and the list goes on and on.  I'm positive that we could probably "get by" on more than half of what we actually use.  Instead of buying a $35 case of Pampers disposable diapers every two weeks (for the past 3 1/2 years), I probably should be using cloth diapers- but I was always (and still am, to some extent) the type of person that cannot STAND dealing with human wastes. 

Growing up on the farm, I dealt with a lot of disgusting things.  But they were ANIMAL things.  I have helped my dad at calving time-if you aren't from a farm, you probably don't have a clue what kinds of disgusting things can happen at calving time.  I distinctly recall an incident where a cow had a still-born calf, but it stayed inside her uterus.  The fetus started rotting inside this poor cow, so we had to pull it out before it poisoned the animal.  My dad and my grandpa and I (and maybe even one of my younger brothers??) chased this cow into the maternity pens, locked her into a chute and proceeded to help her get rid the stinking, rotting corpse of her still-born calf.  My grandpa hung his head over the corral and (rather loudly) said good-bye to his breakfast.  My dad must have zero sense of smell as he was right up close to the action.  Or perhaps he knew my trick of "closing" the nostrils from the inside.  I won't lie, the smell was absolutely dreadful, but it didn't really bother me.  The worst part of that entire morning was listening to and watching my grandpa vomit his oatmeal over the fence.  I still gag just thinking about it.

So, the first time my gorgeous, sweet little girl shit herself all the way up to her neck, I was unprepared.  She laughed.  I gagged.  I had to "close my nostrils".  I had to look away, which is not easy to do with a squirming, month-old baby.  There was shit EVERYWHERE.  I was so mortified that MY girl had done this to me, I just couldn't deal.  Then she did it again.  And again.  I finally became accustomed to pulling a poop-covered onesie over her head and just plopping her and the offending onesie into the bathtub.  I didn't even gag anymore.  Almost a year went by.  All of a sudden, my girl was constipated (we put her on regular cow's milk at 11 months old).  The only way she would poop, was when I put her in a bath tub full of warm water.  The first time I found "floaters" in the tub, I screamed and whipped that baby out of the tub in 2 seconds.  I scooped the turds out of the tub and into the toilet using her little fishing net, then proceeded to bleach and scrub the entire bathroom.  She proceeded to laugh and run naked around the house.  In the end, we went through about a month of her being constipated and crapping in the tub, and by the end, I just scooped the turds out with my gloved hands and disinfected everything without batting an eyelid.  Potty training was fun too.  My girl's first time pooping on her little potty- "Mom, look at all that CHOCOLATE!!!!" Followed by "BAH!  Don't touch it!!!  That's not CHOCOLATE!!!!"

When my girl was 18 months old, she somehow developed motion sickness.  I was 2 months pregnant and in the throes of some serious morning sickness, and here I was- on the side of the road- gagging and trying my best to help this poor little girl get the barf off of her shirt, pants, and her car-seat.  By the time my boy was born, I was able to turn around and catch the barf in my hands, and then comfort the poor little vomit-covered child afterward.  Boy, do things change when you've got little people!

It turns out my boy gets car-sick too.  So now I've got a barf-pail in the car, wipes, and plenty of "drive-thru" napkins in the glove-box.  It's not fun, and it's definitely not fair for the little people to feel so yucky just going for a grocery run to the city, but that's our life and I've acclimatized to human vomit.  And the stuff from the other end too, apparently.

Last night, I had to deal with poop in the tub.  Again.  I had just got my girl's jammies on, and had pulled the tub's plug.  I usually leave my boy in there to play with the water as it goes down the drain.  I left the bathroom to grab something, and when I came back into the room, the water was gone, but my boy was squatting there in the tub, poking something.  Something that looked remarkably like a pile of shit.  Oh yes, it WAS.  Bah!  Not again!?!?!?!  There I was, grabbing my boy- yelling "No!!!!  Don't touch that!!!!  Yuck!!!"- and washing his disgusting little hands in the sink 5 times.  (The fun part is that I quickly checked him over to make sure there were no turds stuck to his little bum or in his hair before I grabbed him out of the tub)  I quickly got him dressed in his pyjamas, gave him his sippy cup of milk and a snack, and sent him to watch cartoons with his sister.  Then I proceeded to clean up the pile of poop.  Sadly, some went down the drain.  I could not save it.  However, there were a couple turds just on the verge of falling through the holes of the drain, so I ran to the kitchen-yes, the kitchen- and grabbed my rubber gloves.  And a teaspoon.  The turds were saved and thrown in the toilet with the rest of the pile.  The bleach came out and everything that was in the tub, got it.  For the hundredth time.  All of this happened and was dealt with, within 10 minutes. (A far cry from the first hour spent doing-yay me!)  And I'm sure it won't be the last time either.  Potty training could be interesting with my boy, if not down-right, disgustingly hilarious.  I promptly poured myself a glass of wine, and devoured a Nutella & peanut butter-covered rice cake. (no, I did not notice the irony of the similarities in what I ate afterwards to what I had just cleaned up, until just now, please don't judge...)

The offending pile of poop.

The bleach working it's magic.

My reward.

To all of the readers out there that haven't had children yet, just wait.  It's coming for you.  You might be just like me, and won't know what you hit you.  Or maybe you'll have it all figured out (highly unlikely, just sayin'....)  And to those of you that do have kids, or are seasoned grandparents, I'm sure almost all of you have some kind of puke or shit story that we can relate to.

I have to ask myself, sometimes daily, why I "signed up for this".  But I'll tell you, and I'm sure other moms will tell you the same- we do it for love.  And for the memories.  Because there is absolutely no humility or shame left when you become a mom, but there is just so much love to give, and to receive.  And someday, I know that my little people will have little people of their own, and they'll just have to deal with it.  And when that day comes, I will laugh at the little piles of poop in THEIR tub.

C