This morning the words, “It was all fun and games until you stuck your hand in the poo-poo!” actually came out of my mouth.

Oh my word. Who am I?

Well, here’s the story:

Jack is at the age now where he hates diaper changes. When he is awake, his bottom touches a seat or the floor maybe 10% of the time. The other 90% he is on the go!

Running!

Playing!

Pacing the living room, dropping Cheerios as he goes!

He’s just that kind of kid. So a diaper change? Having to lay down and be still while Mama cleans my hiney?

Ohhhh NO!

He tosses and turns and screams and bucks. All over a diaper change! It’s ridiculous really. Tim can attest to it. But there are a few things we have learned that can soothe the problem for about 30 seconds to a minute, at which time we change the diaper like mad, as if we are in the pit crew changing tires in the Indy 500. Those things are as follows:

1. Give him a book from the shelf. But beware, he only wants the big ones…you know, like the BIG ones, with pull-out tabs and song buttons along the side, so you have to fight to keep the bottom of it out of the way.

2. Sing a song. You’re Baby Can Read selections are best (ie. Happy and You Know It, Head Shoulders Knees and Toes).

3. Be funny.

This morning, he made his routine first poop of the day. So, I said my usual, “Eww! You stinky! Let’s go to Jack Jack’s room!”

Off he marches, because he knows exactly where Jack Jack’s room is and he loves it. Once there he starts the elude tactic, since he knows why we are there; to change the poopy diaper. He gets right to playing with his toys, acting like he is too busy to notice that I followed him in there to “do the duty”. After a “C’mon Jack Jack, Mommy has to change your diaper,” he wedges himself between the glider and small space between his dresser and wall, where we keep his Walt Disney World suitcase. (Easy access for those last minute weekend trips to Grandma’s or let face it, Disney World…)

After much coo-ing, coaxing, and eventually removing the suitcase to make space for me to remove him, I grab him up and take him to the diaper changing area. This is where the screaming commences. I lay him down and the bucking starts. Rolling over, foul words too, I’m sure, if he knew any or could say them…

First thing that comes to mind is tactic 3, be funny.

“Oooo! Shoo-wee!” I say loudly. “Jack Jack stink!”

This gets a giggle. My little Jiminy Cricket from within says, “You’re doing well! Just keep going!”

[Fake coughing and gagging] “Ugh! So stinky! Shoo-wee! Jack Jack made a poopy diaper! Yuck!”

Belly laughs now. Jiminy Cricket: “That-a girl, Mom. You’re a real champ at this!”

Now the diaper is opened, it’s full aromatic potential reaching far and wide. I’m not having to pretend much at this point in my “Be funny” routine. I reach for the first wipe and as I do everything goes into slow motion as Jack becomes stone faced.

The joke is not funny anymore.

Jiminy Cricket: “Uh oh, Mom. You’re in trouble, act fast!”

But it’s too late.

Legs all a-spread, two hands reach down between them and grab and smear a handful.

“Noooooo!”

I said it loudly…okay maybe I yelled it, but the next thing I know the stone face has turned pouty. His bottom lip quivers as crocodile tears pool up in those big blue eyes that strangers always stop to gawk at. I see his soiled hands motionless in the air, taking note of the poop caked under his nails and smeared across the front of his shirt.

This morning’s first diaper change has all of a sudden become what I like to call, an ordeal.

As I make the check-list in my mind of where to start, what to clean first, and how to solve this quickly and painlessly, I flick that little Jiminy Cricket in the hind-quarters and the words, “It was all fun and games until you stuck your hand in the poo-poo!” come out of my mouth.

Right then it hit me and I wondered how many Mommies across the world are doing the exact same thing? Right. Now.

Right. Now. How many Mommies are saying equally ridiculous statements to their wailing kids?

Right. Now. How many Mommies are having double, or triple (!) the trouble with more than one kiddo on their hands?

The thought was so comical to me that I just had to laugh.

God must have a really entertaining show to watch each day on the Stay-At-Home Mommy Channel. The REAL Real Housewives of the World.

I’m happy to say that Jack was officially cleaned, his hands sanitized, and after about 5 minutes, his spirits calmed from the traumatic experience. Good thing he is so young and won’t remember times like these or else you might be hearing his point of view in 15 years from one of the couches of an Oprah-esk show.

I just wanted to share this little story today, though, to give any other Mommies having mornings such as mine a little laugh and a little love in letting them know that they are not alone. There is a whole army of brave women like us out there, repeatedly having their patience tried and fighting the temptation to rip their hair out.

We are the REAL women of America, of the world, and our job is one of the hardest there is.

But hey, atleast we get to do it with our pj’s on and a pot of hot coffee waiting for us in the kitchen.

With love, Malorie

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