Poop!

*Disclaimer: this entry is emotionally raw and a little graphic. For the sake of sharing the story later in life, I wanted to document it anyway. So here goes!

I hate poop. Period. I've never really liked it and over the past 5 months of potty training I've learned to despise it more than ever. Yes, we are STILL technically potty training. At this point I try to avoid the topic because it causes all types of negative emotions to run through me: frustration, anger, and embarrassment.

Yes, it is getting better, but we are still having poop accidents. Some are at home, but mostly they are still at preschool. About 2 weeks ago they finally let me put him in the three year old room at school because of my fear of transition with the baby coming. Oliver does not transition well. We could come up with tons of rationalizations for this, but in reality the child does not deal with change and loves routine. Though we do switch things up on purpose, it's still something we are working through and know will become a stumbling block in the next few weeks with the arrival of his little brother.

So here is my story. It's a classic one of my potty frustrations.

Brent volunteers at church as a greeter every other Saturday night. This means that Oliver and I drop him off then run a quick errand in Florence rather then have Oliver run around the lobby for the half hour before I can check him into Kid's Club. Our errand last night was to the Christian Bookstore. I was looking for a specific book as a gift for a friend. For whatever reason I had not prepared the title or the author, so once I realized it was not in the forefront of my memory like I had hoped, we headed to the Kid section so Oliver could look at the VeggieTales toys. He was mesmerized and I had the opportunity necessary to find the information I needed on my phone. We headed toward the section in the store where the book I needed would be located. While walking I hear, "I gotta potty Mommy. Gotta poop."

I grab his hand and speed walk to the women's restroom. We made it dry and clean! He balances on the adult-sized potty, which is still a challenge for him, and pees. I ask if he needs to poop and get, "No." He was nervous because he was not balanced well. After asking him to repeat his answer, I take him off of the potty and take my own turn while zipping his pants for him.

About the time I stand up, it happens. I see the grunt on his face and the words come out of his mouth. "I pooped."

My mind is now racing. WHAT? I check and sure enough his pants were full. Not just a little either, and not completely solid. Fortunately a change of clothes and wipes are in the car, but there was no way I even wanted to pull his pants back up, much less make him walk to the car and back. I contemplated just making him sit in it until we got to church, but remembered the change of clothes was shorts and was uncertain about that too. He looked miserable and I was confused.

So I pulled his pants up anyway and told him to stand really still. I walked out into the store and asked the teenage female behind the counter to stand at the door of the bathroom while I walked out to my car to get a change of clothes because my son had just pooped his pants. After getting a funny look she agreed. I ran as fast as a woman who is 38 weeks pregnant possibly can (which was more of a walk, but whatever!), grabbed the bag, and hid my head as I walked past the girl back into the bathroom.

Now what? I could empty his underwear with my normal tactics because the toilet was too high. I could not pull his underwear off without making a horrible mess. Ah! The changing table. I warned Oliver that it was going to feel gross on his bottom and lifted him up with all my might. (Again, 38 weeks pregnant and an almost 40 pound boy. Not a great combination!) He started to fuss as everything squished to his bottom and I told him to be patient and not move unless I told him to.

His pants came off and legs were in the air. This one smelled awful too! I grabbed paper towels to go under his bottom, which caught the mess as I pulled off his clothes fortunately. Legs were still up and I kept repeating, "Don't move! Don't move!" My sweet boy listened. Everything, including the underwear went in the trash can. We walked out together, holding hands, and I told the same teenage girl behind the counter that she would want to take the trash out.

That's when I looked at Oliver and I told him, "It's ok, buddy. You tried." He did tell me he had to go after all.

Almost in tears he replies, "No, it's not. I had an accident."

And this was where I took a deep breath. He knew he had messed up and was not happy about it. The look on his face was one of disappointment and sadness because he really was trying and still could not get it right.

It is like life. We are all still, technically, potty training. We want perfection. We want to be good enough. But it's never possible without Jesus. We need His grace and mercy. We need him to clean up our bottoms when we poop our pants. Though it's a figurative example, I poop my pants a lot when I think about it. It makes me frustrated, angry, and embarrassed when I can't seem to get the same things right over and over. But Jesus looks at me with blood on his hands and says, "It's ok. You tried." And I'm reminded that He has already cleaned me up.

The story ends with my little fella giving me a big hug and kiss on the cheek. I'm reminded that it's all going to be ok. He will be accident-free one day. Until then we must rely on God's grace and the thought that maybe a little big of poop is not all that bad.