Refelctions on Poo (no, not Pooh, just Poo)

So, I'm so engrossed in cleaning my kitchen (one has to become completely engrossed when one waits a week to do dishes) that I lost track of where both girls are. I glance over my shoulder, and my firstborn is dutifully cleaning the living room windows. Girl number 2 in the dynamic duo is meandering. You know, that "I'm so bored and I'm not old enough to do anything real constructive so I'll just get into trouble" meandering.

She's itching her rear end.

Poor kid. Stinks to have eczema on your biscuits. Then, I squint and look closer. She quickly stuffs her two middle fingers into her mouth. She sucks these regularly and is ambidextrous. Oh no.

I yell out loud to the heavens, "Oh, dear Father, no!!" But it's too late.

She has transferred whatever was looming in her diaper to her mouth. I am nauseated, and yet, I have to act. Lets just say, 30 minutes later both mom and kid are poo free and smelling much better. I silently thanked the Lord that it was me and not her dad; he's a wonderful father but has a significantly weaker stomach. Wow, the days of my life.


While I wait for the King, I become much more humble, much more resilient, much more thankful for the small things.

I truly believe that all you poo cleaning mamas out there deserve a big ol' badge to wear that says something to the effect of, "I cleaned up nasty poo and all I got was this stinking badge."

On second thought, badges? We don't need no stinking badges. Just chalk it up to treasure in heaven. Very few people will ever know the sacrifices made by mothers (that is, unless you become a mother yourself, or you read my blog in which I detail with precision just how much of a giver I am) but thank goodness, really and truly, that the Father knows. He will indeed reward all of us who give up many other things to change diapers...but also... to receive those smiles and giggles and read those books and tell those kiddos just how much they're worth. They're worth everything.

May I never forget what a blessing these precious moments are. I won't be their favorite person for very much longer.(Just ask my firstborn, she'll tell you, and she knows! She is, after all, almost 4.)