Oversharing: Baby Fingers, Mommy’s Kisses, and a Date with the Porcelain Throne

This is a rare Oversharing moment; Meredith is officially an IRL (in real life, for my dad) pal because I bunked with her at the Scary Mommy meet-and-greet a few months ago. Girl is a tall drink of blonde water and as gracious as she is gorgeous. Plus she’s super funny which me likes. Today she’s here to discuss poop. Yes, poop.

Steph asked me to share a story about poop, and the thing is, when Steph asks for something, you don’t disappoint.  The whole nasty business of my poop issues came up a few month ago, when I met her in person.  Let me tell you, meeting was the HIGHLIGHT OF SUMMER.  Here is the secret scoop that Steph doesn’t tell you about herself: she is an adorable teeny little chick who is rockstar famous with a ton of friends in Pittsburgh.  She is the kind of person who walks in a room and engages the entire crowd within seconds.  She is cool. (Editor’s note: My ego loves it when Meredith writes under the influence. Work your magic, Gin!).

Unfortunately, I am not.  I am the anti-cool.  And in case the ear plugs and the nighttime teeth grinding didn’t reinforce this enough, I went  for gold and solidified myself as the best hotel roomie ever by taking a nice dump in the shared bathroom first thing in the morning.  I was mortified.  But let’s just say since having my babies, the urgency issues are, well, urgent.  An elevator ride down to the lobby was not an option.  Steph sweetly pretended she didn’t care, and naive me thought this would be the extent of my poop problems for the weekend. (Editor’s note: Mamas stand united in poo emergencies. Still love Meredith).

But I was so wrong.  On the way home, I had the MOST HORRID EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE with poop.  And when Steph called to check in on my making it home safely, I reported “continued bowel concerns.”  This is when she told me, “You have to write about poop!”.  After you out yourself as the 34 yr. old who has more issues with poop than most newborns, it’s all anyone ever wants to hear about, you know?  But the thing is, I can’t bring myself to share this story yet; it’s just that horrid. (Editor’s note: I’ll get it out of her. Oh, yes.).

So since I can’t yet share my story of supreme pooping humiliation, I am going to share another nightmarish poop story of the summer…

It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon and my husband and I were chilling on the deck watching my son’s swim lessons when my daughter woke from her nap and started to cry.  Feeling magnanimous (read: hoping to shirk bath duty on my husband that night), I volunteered to go up and get her.

My daughter was extremely upset, which is rare for her post-nap.  She was holding out her hand and crying.  I kissed it sweetly several times, as Mommy’s kisses usually make any boo-boo go away, and I figured she had hit her fingers on something.

But her cries didn’t stop.  So I decided to just change her.  The smell of poop reeked, and I assumed she was mad because she woke herself up by pooping. Hate it when that happens. I started to open her diaper and I realized something was very wrong.

The poop had spread out of the diaper confines.  And then I noticed she had poop smeared on her belly.  Then I saw it on her dress.  That sinking, “Darn!  Is this really my job to clean this up?  Where is the adult around here?” feeling hit.  I sighed and grabbed for the wipes.

As I turned my head, I saw something chilling that stopped me in my tracks.  On my daughter’s white pillow there was a hand-print smear of poop.  If there was a handprint, that must have meant it was on her hand. In slow motion, my draw dropped as I zeroed in on my daughter’s hand.  It was definitively brown-stained.  Nooooooo!

I had just kissed that poop-covered hand. Emphatically.  She was not upset because she had a boo-boo on her hand, but because she had shoved it down her diaper and got crap all over it. And I had smacked it all over with my lips.

Shudder, I know…but after cleaning and sanitizing all everything, I thought we were in the clear of this nifty incident.

But then the next night we were just about ready to eat dinner when I had a nauseating feeling in my stomach.  And then I spent the remainder of the evening hugging The Porcelain Throne.  As it turns out, poop bacteria is a really nasty beast.

So, for you, dear readers, a general takeaway from this post–don’t kiss poop.  Just generally, all-around a bad idea.  So glad I could do the research for all of us.

Also, there is never anytime like the present to get some fresh new pillows.

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Meredith Spidel blogs at TheMomOfTheYear.net, dedicatedly earning her title one epic parenting fail at a time. When her kids aren’t busy pummeling each other with Legos or requiring their 16th sippy cup refill of the day, she tries to offer quick, relatable laughs for fellow parents of the world and all their empathizers. She remains entirely terrified by crafts, promises to never share any useful household tips, and is fully committed to a less serious look at the world of parenting. Social media is beyond her comprehension, but she makes a pass at Twitter (@meredithspidel) and Facebook (themomoftheyear). Meredith is one of the co-authors of the hilarious bestselling anthology, “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”