Holy Sh*t!

Advisor: Due to the graphic nature of this story, people without children should be warned the contents may deter you from ever having children.

During the eight years of having children I have seen some pretty scary things. I have seen barf on my furniture (tons of it) and barf all over the kid’s beds (and the kids). Eric and I have also been barfed on too many times to count.  There has been lots of pee in beds and poo in underwear. I’m sure by now you’ve got the picture. But nothing, no nothing, could have prepared me for what I saw this week.

We recently decided it was time to potty train our two year old. We went cold turkey on her. We took away her diapers, put her in underwear and that was that. There were tons of accidents but she made quick progress. We sometimes let her run around with nothing on at all because it just seemed easier and less messy.  How ironic.

On this night, I was in the kitchen and Eric was upstairs. Chloe was also upstairs but she was unattended. All I remember hearing was Eric yelling ( had screaming but Eric didn't like that), “She’s pooped all over the carpet!”  Calm down I thought to myself. Have you never seen your kid’s poop before? It wasn’t until I rounded the corner that I realized the carnage that had taken place.

The smell hit me first. It was as if I had walked into a wall of shit.  Then I saw it. Well, really I just saw part of it. There, on the stairs was a dripping puddle of poo. This was no grab a Kleenex, pick it up and throw it in the toilet poo.  As I made my way farther up the stairs the realization of what had taken place sank in. There was diarrhea everywhere. There was mounds of it on two stairs and then, what seemed like, a hundred more, smaller markings.

I was in shock. This was going to be impossible to clean up. Cue Eric and I begin adult tantrums over how we were going to deal with this. Conveniently, Eric was on the way out the door. His parting words to me were, “Good luck”.  I would have killed him right there but I didn’t want to step in the mine field of shit that lay in front of me. Instead, I maturely yelled after him, “I’M NOT CLEANING THIS UP!!!”

That was obviously an empty threat. My first thought was to grab a claw hammer and start ripping up the carpet. This seriously seemed easier than actually trying to clean it. I went to the cupboard and we were, of course, out of carpet cleaner. I grabbed my Forever New, a product I bought about ten years ago meant for cleaning my bras (as if I have time to give my bras special attention).

With Chloe standing beside me practically taunting me, I began the seemingly impossible task of cleaning up all what seemed like a year's worth of crap.  I was cursing everything - this stupid house, stupid Eric and this stupid, white carpet.  Yes, in my naïve youth, I too put down white carpet.  Chloe’s taunting turned to cheerleading as she would adorably say, “right there, right there” every time she found a new shit stain.

After what seemed like an eternity I had made some headway.  The carpet had been scarred for life for sure but the scars had become faded shadows of something terrible, something I wanted to put in my past. I really thought I had seen it all but that night taught me otherwise.  Poo in the toilet will be welcomed in this house from now on.